


The Reroute

by therudestflower



Series: The Commuter AU [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe -Chicago (suburb), F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Grief, Just prepare for like, You don't strictly have to read the rest of it, almost total disregard for canon, but nods to canon!, complicated families, lots of nods!, part of a series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2019-10-09 05:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17400638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therudestflower/pseuds/therudestflower
Summary: One day Chris goes to the shooting range and when he comes home Isaac is in their lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA the Isaac gets adopted by Chris slow fic that we never got in canon, but all human, and set in a small city near Chicago! For reasons! If you're reading Seven Fourteen Northbound or The Theory of Multiplicity and wondering why Chris is Isaac's dad, this is the story for you.

 

One day Chris goes to the shooting range and when he comes home Isaac is in their lives.

He wasn't gone long. His new favorite range is in Wisconsin. He found it two weeks after Victoria died. Better lighting. The clientele is less extreme. No one there had ever seen him in an emotional state. Even with the drive he's gone before Allison wakes up and home by two.

He expected her to still be asleep.

Allison held up well until school ended. She woke up at six every day and went on her normal run. Their new apartment was closer to the lake and she came home with her sneakers caked with sand. She only missed two days of school, and Chris was proud of that, though he tried not to show it. If she was snappish with her teachers or threw her planner book at a girl Chris had never heard of, everyone understood it as "understandable under the circumstances."

No one knew what to say in the principal’s office when Allison started laughing and gasped out "You're okay with me assaulting someone because my mom died? Do you realize how demented that is?"

When they were a week into summer, Chris could no longer choose to understand Allison sleeping past noon every day as normal teenage behavior. The day before, Allison caught Chris watching her poking through the kitchen in her pajamas before dinner and demanded to know what he was looking at.

"When is that camp starting?" he asked, "Where you'll be teaching archery?"

Allison shook an empty box of cereal and put it back in the cabinet. "I quit."

"When?"

"The camp started Monday and I wasn't there, so," she said, using the light uncaring tone that Chris had become too familiar with in the past month.

"Allison," he said, "The responsible thing to do is give two weeks notice." Allison just shrugged. "Do you have any plans?" She shrugged again, took out the same box of cereal and discovered for the second time that it was empty.

That night Chris came by her room and let her know he was going to the range in the morning. Allison had spent most of the week sitting crosslegged on her bed watching Victoria's Designing Women DVDs, and Chris noticed that she'd started over at the first season. He tried to spend as much time as he could in the apartment with her, but polishing the furniture did not offer the same release as a morning at the range.

"Would you like to come with me?" he asked.

"I would not," she said deliberately, not taking her eyes off the TV. Chris considered stepping in front of the television but decided against it.

"Lydia hasn't been around for a while." Not that he particularly missed her, but children needed to be social.

"I'm busy," Allison said, gesturing vaguely at the screen.

"Allison. Hey--Allison." She dragged her gaze off the screen and managed to look in his direction. "I expect you to leave the apartment and do something before I get back. Socialize."

Allison rolled her eyes. “Allison,” Chris started again.

“Socialize. Not that I’m sure how I’m going to do that since my only friend is always busy and I have no other friends because you make me move every five minutes. But yes, I’ll socialize.”

“Just getting out of the house would be enough,” Chris amended.

“Got it,” Allison said, not taking her eyes of the TV.

In the morning Chris went to the shooting range and he did not cry in the car and when he came home Isaac was sitting on Allison's bed. At the time though, he wasn't Isaac, he was a strange teenage boy who Chris had never seen before. He was sitting on the edge of her bed with one foot drawn up, not touching Allison but he easily could have. Chris found that he was almost more disturbed that he was wearing shoes on a bed than the fact that it's his daughter’s bed.

Almost.

When they saw Chris in the doorway, they had the good sense to immediately jump off the bed and shrapnel to opposite sides of the room.

"Dad!" Allison said. She smoothed her hair off her face and tugged on the sleeves of her black sweater. "Hi," she smiled sheepishly at him. "How was your trip?"

Out of the corner of his eye Chris saw the boy turn away from him, and for some reason pick up a necklace off Allison's dresser and start toying with it. He was taller than Chris and possibly older than Allison.

"My trip to the gun range?" Chris said, locking eyes on the boy. He dropped the necklace and frantically picked it up. "My accuracy has improved."

Allison, bless her, looked frustrated at best by her father's veiled threats and actually sat back down on the bed. The boy leaned against the dresser, eyes pinging between him and Allison.

"You told me to do something so I did," she said, gesturing towards the boy.

"It wasn't like that," the boys said quickly. Chris spared him a glance before focusing back on Allison. As far as Chris was concerned, he was a prop that only existed at this stage of Allison's grief playing out and would be out of their lives in the next hour.

"Allison would you join me in my office please," Chris asked, "while I put away my guns."

Allison got up easily and told the boy, "You don't have to leave," though judging by the look his face he'd be gone by the time he closed the office door. Allison watched with cool disinterest as Chris secured his firearms and ammo in their respective safes. "You told me to leave the apartment and socialize. I don't know why you're unhappy right now."

Chris turned around. For a moment he reflected on how Victoria would have handled this. While neither of them were happy when Allison started dating that insipid water polo player, named _Jake_ of all things, it was Victoria who Allison blamed when they banned her from seeing him. She snuck around with him for months, and they spent more time looking for Allison than speaking to her, right up until the day Victoria died.

Chris lifted the ban on Jake, only for him to leave their house five minutes after he came, tearfully spitting "She broke up with me, happy yet?" at him. And yes, Chris was. He did not expect to have to contend with another teenage boy this soon and found himself unprepared.

"I am disappointed," he said carefully, "because there is a stranger in my house. There's a reason we asked you to introduce us to your friends before they come home."

"Isaac isn't casing the apartment," Allison said, "Not that anyone I have ever brought over were the master spies you and Mom are afraid of."

"How do you know him?"

"We met at the antique mall."

"Allison."

"That's where I went this morning. We need a dinner table. If I were to lie I'd say we met at Starbucks."

That was true, though sometimes it alarmed Chris how good at lying Allison was. "And how did that lead to him sitting on your bed?"

"He hasn't seen Designing Women."

"So you invited him over to sit on your bed and watch Designing Women."

"Yes."

"Does he go to your school?"

"I don't know. It didn't come up."

"Last name."

"Dad."

"Allison."

Allison threw her arms out with exasperation. "You're right Dad. You were right all along. Isaac is a pawn for a local crime family. A crime family that _hates you_ and wants to take you down from the inside. He tricked me into inviting him over with his knowledge of vintage tea kettles."

It didn't escape either of their notice that no doors had opened or closed while they spoke, meaning the house guest in question was still in Allison's bedroom.

"It's not me I'm worried about."

Earlier in the year statements like this induced meltdowns as Allison pleaded with Victoria and him to treat her like an adult. Now, he was met with nothing but a stony look. Allison squared her shoulders, "I can take care of myself."

The truth was, she most likely could. He compartmentalized any amount of shame he felt as he acknowledged this truth.

Chris considered what appropriate rules would be for the situation but, for what felt like the hundredth time in the past month, came up short. "Did you find a dining table?" he asked, which as much weight as he intended for the rules he couldn't come up with.

"No, we were going to go to South Elgin to look. If that's fine with you," with as much irritation as if she was responding to a list of rules.

They did need a new dining room table. Nearly all of their furniture sat in their as of yet unsold house a mile away, and Allison never showed any interest in bringing anything to the apartment. She was used to change. With every move Victoria spent months meticulously choosing furniture and trinkets that fit their current home's theme. They left her pieces behind with each move not because it would be too difficult to move, but because Victoria wanted a new challenge. Their house in Briarwood was a cookie cutter five bedroom that Victoria loathed. She never stopped looking for ways to "Hide that it was built with painted cardboard." She lay in bed every night with her glasses and a stack of decorating magazines.

The day of her funeral a cylindrical Ethan Allan package landed on their doorstep with her name. Victoria Sylwia Argent. Even after Allison and Chris moved, just a few days later, packages continued to pile up on the doorstep. When he found the time, Chris went back boxed their photos and trinkets, but the furniture stayed behind. The only thing Allison took interest in was Victoria's DVD collection. Allison never expressed interest in outfitting their previous homes, and Chris didn't see a reason to stop her.

Somehow Allison walked out of his office with his black Master Card in her pocket. Isaac was lurking outside the door and skittered backwards when the door opened. He stopped when his leg hit the coffee table, sticking his hands in his pockets, failing to look nonchalant. Chris mentally downgraded the kid's threat potential.

Before they left Chris gently demanded to know how old Isaac was and his last name. Isaac supplied "Sixteen, and it's Cahen, sir," and with enough speed that Chris didn't feel the immediate need to check the veracity of his answers.

"Do I need to tell you what will happen if you take my daughter anywhere but the store, Isaac Cahen?"

Isaac's posture shifted. His shoulders rolled back and he tiled his head like he was amused. "Yes," Isaac said, his voice hard. There was a clear challenge in the way he looked at Chris. A far cry from the panicked way he'd provided his name a mere second ago. Chris was struck by the feeling that he was suddenly dealing with a different person.

"Don't listen to him," Allison said from the doorway where she was pulling on a pair of boots. Isaac's shoulder twitched towards her but he didn't break eye contact. Chris would have said something momentarily, as he was not easily surprised by a teenage boy, but Allison strode over in three easy steps and took Isaac by the wrist. "Bye, Dad," she said forcefully, dragging Isaac out of the apartment.

He heard Isaac say, "Your dad better not shoot me" before the door closed, and Chris was alone.

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks later a compact mahogany table was delivered to their apartment while Chris was home checking emails. He kept the delivery people in the hallway while he waited for Allison to answer the phone.

"I told you about that," she insisted. In the background Chris heard overlapping voices and what sounded like an intercom. "We ordered it from the South Elgin store."

Chris made quick work of verifying that before letting the delivery men in. Allison tried multiple times to get off the phone during this process. "Where are you?" Chris asked. The table had carved detail around the lip, and would fit perfectly in open space behind the living room.

"Uh, the beach."

"Which beach?" Allison conveyed the question to someone else and came back with "The one by the Dairy Queen." Sycamore Beach. A half mile from Allison's high school. The lackluster answer meant that Allison was not with Lydia, who would answer offer to text Chris the latitude-longitude coordinates if asked.

"You're with Isaac?"

She agreed, "We're going to swim."

Since the day Isaac showed up in his home, Allison left the apartment nearly every day. She came home just before dark, leaving sand piles in the doorway. He hadn't seen Isaac since the day after the gun range. While Chris wasn't surprised, he did feel the need to address it. He was not interested in spending another year with Allison hiding her life from him.

When she came home from the antique store--she did tell him about the table, he now remembered--she made a show of telling Chris everything she knew about Isaac. Made it clear that she was doing so under duress, even though Chris never asked a question abut Isaac, and certainly was not pursuing in the level of detailed he received. Isaac Cahen, Allison said, moved to town a few months ago and was living with his cousin or uncle or "something similar." Isaac probably would be going to her school after the summer. He was obsessed with the antique post cards at the South Elgin shop. He didn't have a car, or a bus pass or a job. And he thought that Chris was "psycho," which Chris had to admit was more of an indication of self-preservation skills than anything else. "But I'm sure you have already conducted a background search," she said, after detailing the neighborhood she dropped Isaac off in.

Chris did not clarify that he had absolutely no more access to information about Isaac Cahen than a google search could provide. If need be, Chris could find a tectonic survey of Waterlow, Nebraska in 1981 in an afternoon. But Victoria was the one who handled people. His attempt at research turned nothing but dead French Cahens on Jewish geneology sites. Despite having no hard evidence that Isaac wasn't a drug dealer, Chris did not feel the need to stop Allison from going around with him. For one, she was out of the house which even better parents would agree was an improvement. Beside that, any teenage boy who hung out at antique malls must be gay.

Any remaining reservations he had about Allison spending time with a stranger, and so much time with him, was helped by Allison's new transparency. While he sometimes had no idea where she was, she answered texts within minutes.

Without Allison at home, Chris found that there was no hiding that he had no idea what to do with his time. When he was focused on getting her out of bed, he had something to do, and now he just watched delivery men install furniture his daughter ordered.

"You can't swim at the same time," Chris said, watching the men touch his furniture to make room for the dining table.

"We can't?" Allison asked with some impatience.

"Unless you want your purse stolen."

"We rented a locker," she said, "We're not stupid."

Well.

"Come home for dinner after," he said, "both of you."

"Dad."

"Allison."

She came home alone at five. Chris ran out of emails to answer and was occupying himself with the arduous task of lying on the couch with a tumbler, reading the spines on the books across the room. The apartment's living room had white painted built in shelves, an attribute Victoria would have been pleased with. The books were the first things Chris brought over after the move, but he only managed to fill a shelf. The rest of the boxes sat under the empty shelves.

"There was a car crash down the street," Allison called from the door. He heard her kick off her shoes and drop her bag on the floor. She padded down the hall. "Traffic is backed up a mile. I had to park at the Whole Foods and walk here."

Chris sat up and put his feet on the floor, and Allison collapsed on the couch. Her wet hair was contained in a bun on top of her head. "Did you have a good day?"

"I got a thousand bug bites, but it was fine."

"You're spending a lot of time at the beach. I don't know that you ever went to the beach in San Francisco."

"It's better here. The water is a bit disgusting, but it's warmer here than the ocean. Once you get used to it you can stay out there for hours." Her cheeks were pink from the sun, and he thought of the similar photos of her as a child.

"Do you remember those weekends we spent at the lakes, back when we lived in Boston? You used to spend all day floating in your back. We had to bribe you to come inside."

"I remember that," she said quietly, "You came in the water once and carried me out. You were fully dressed, I think even your shoes were on."

"More than once." He left his shoes off, after the first time. Allison delighted in her father drenching himself to get her out of the water, she giggled and swam to him, clinging to his chest as he carried her out. She talked about it non-stop after every time. If he did everything else wrong for the rest of her childhood, she would remember her father making a fool of himself just to get her inside for dinner.

They sat in the memory. Chris suspected that they were both thinking of the part of the memory that wasn't said. Victoria, who didn’t swim, leaning over the edge of the dock to talk to Allison, her black sunglasses picking up the reflection of the water.

"What did you do today?" she asked abruptly.

The moment popped like a thin soap balloon. Chris paused. "I would prefer you change out of your swimsuit before getting settled in."

Allison twisted to look at the marks that her wet shirt already left on the couch. "You weren't planning on keeping this, were you? It's just the one that came with the apartment."

"If it's damaged we won't get our deposit back."

Allison fell back against the couch and closed her eyes. "Take it out of my college fund," she said, despite knowing that Chris most likely would if it came to it. "It's my turn to order dinner.”

"Are we taking turns?"

Allison hummed. "That's been the pattern so far. If you call for burgers, I'll pick it up. I have to get my car anyway."

Chris was not thrilled that they had any sort of new pattern. "Where's Isaac?" he asked.

Allison shot him a disbelieving look. "Dad, you didn't really think he was going to come here, did you?"

"He was invited."

Allison let her hair down and sighed. "I had to spend a massive amount of time convincing him you weren't going to shoot anyone. I mean, the whole drive to South Elgin. If it took any longer I would have called character witnesses."

“Are you two dating?” Chris asked.

Allison wrinkled her nose. “Dad. We’re just friends. It’s a little soon for me to be dating someone. With—because I broke up with Jake.”

“What about Lydia?” “

“I still see Lydia.” Allison twisted around and pulled their small pile of take out menues out of the side table drawer. “She’s taking summer classes at Northwestern. Besides, you don’t even like Lydia.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Chris said. Allison sorted through the menus, lying the ones she didn’t want on the coffee table. “I don’t want you to leave all your routines behind. Consistency is important.”

Allison laughed and stood up, “You should have thought of that before you made me move three times in the last year. Or you know, failed to tell me what was going on with Mom.” She dropped the remaining menus on the table, sending them cascading onto the floor. “I’m just gonna leave now to pick up dinner.”

“Allison,” Chris stood up and followed her to the door.

She picked up her shoes and opened the door. “I’m coming back,” she said, and closed the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

 

His sales man for Argent Arms, Bennett, called a few days later and made it clear that he had to shit or get off the pot. "You can't run this kind of business in your jammies" he said. Chris was silent long enough for Bennett to remember that Chris was his boss and add, “sir.”

Bennett was right. He’d already lost one major client. If he wanted to avoid using family money, he had to keep his business alive. Bennett identified which relationships were most precarious, and in need of a in-face with the big boss. Chris booked two sets tickets to Albuquerque and Orlando. He couldn’t remember if he and Victoria had ever left Allison home alone before. He suddenly couldn’t remember if they had let her go out for an entire day alone before, or even leave the house. Without thinking, he found himself parked at Sycamore Beach.

He had only been to the beach once, the day they reached Briarwood and drove up to an empty house. The moving truck was still two days away. It was January. There was no snow on the ground but it was twenty degrees below freezing. Chris shoved down the feeling of horror when he realized that Victoria and Allison's warmest jackets were nowhere near warm enough. Allison didn't say a word, just pulled her jacket close around her as the wandered through the house. In hushed tones Victoria insisted they were fine, they would be at the hotel soon and could have jackets delivered. She was reasonable as always. Chris thought he was too, even as he turned up the heat in their empty house to 75 degrees, and corralled the three of them into his SUV and drove to the mall.

Later, equipped with weather appropriate jackets, scarves and gloves, they drove to a beach near Allison's new high school. The "beach near Dairy Queen," Sycamore Beach. It was down a steep unplowed hill and their car was the only one on the gated pier. The sun was setting, but they couldn't see it over the water. The beach was a quarter mile wide, with rocky sand and a shuttered shelter with lockers and snow capped trash cans.

"It's like an ocean," Allison said, "I thought I'd be able to see the other side of it." The water was iced over for nearly a hundred feet off the shore and waves crashed over the ice before receding and crashing again.

"It's a great lake," Chris said, though he was also surprised by the magnitude of it. Victoria put her arm around Allison, pulling her close, "In the summer it will be like bath water. We'll come here every day."

Today, parked in his car, looking over the beach Chris felt sure that Victoria would have detested this place. It clotted with families who brought coolers and umbrellas and noise. Swimmers walking down to the shore had to weave through sunbathers. He picked up on at least three speakers blasting music. Why did Allison even like it?

He wasn't sure Allison was there and nearly gave up looking for her when his phone started ringing. Allison was calling. “Hi Dad,” she said cheerfully, “Whatcha doing?”

Chris reached for the compact binoculars in the glove box. “I’m talking to you.” He scanned over the beach one more time, starting from the shore and moving up.

“What else are you doing?” she asked sweetly.

There they were, sitting on a bright pink towel. Isaac has half hidden by Allison, sitting elbows on knees craning his head around her to look in his direction. Allison sat crosslegged in a giant black hat and oversized sunglasses. She waved at him.

“Thought I’d visit one of our beaches,” Chris said. He tried in vain to find a bottle of sunscreen on her towel, but could only find two oversized soda cups. Both Allison and Isaac had wet hair, but were fully dressed.

“I’m at the beach too!” Allison said.

“Are you?” Chris said with mock surprise. He buckled his seatbelt.

“I am! Which beach are you at?”

“Sycamore. Where are you?” He started his car.

“Such a shame, I’m at Crestwater.” On the towel, Allison reached behind her and produced a bottle of sunscreen and waved it in his direction. “I guess I’ll just see you tonight.”

“Five o’clock. Bring your friend.”

“What are you talking about,” Allison said, “I’m completely alone.” She hung up the phone and Chris put the binoculars away before pulling out of his space and driving up the hill to the street above.


	2. Chapter 2

They ultimately decided that Chris would go on his work trip alone, and Allison would stay in the apartment. He considered allowing her to stay with whichever Martin parent was acceptable, but she vetoed that saying "I thought you life goal was to get me _away_ from crazy."

 

Lydia was welcome to stay over the entire time if she wanted. Other friends were not.

 

"Relax," she said, "Isaac and I promise not to have sex on your bed."

 

Chris sighed. Allison rolled her eyes and stepped back. “Relax. Not even dating, remember?”

 

He felt better about her attitude, she was still angry but at least it was directed at him and not other children. There were books, out there, about children who lost parents to suicide or other violent ends. Chris ordered them and watched for the package so he could take them into the office before she noticed. Non-directed general anger was normal, and parents were to anticipate possible problems in a child's home, school and social life.

 

Allison was well adjusted though. She would bounce back. The book said that a child's previous functioning was the best predictor of their recovery. So he tried not to worry.

 

When it became clear that she was spending all her time with Isaac Cahen, Chris redoubled his efforts to establish who he was, as well as he could from 100 yards and Allison's edgy answers. When he asked where Isaac was from, in case he was wasting his time in Illinois databases, all she said was "Somewhere without a Walgreens."

 

He didn't have nearly enough information to even allow Isaac Cahen into their apartment without him present, but he knew his disapproval wouldn't stop Allison. Even if re-establishing her understanding of safe sex was enough to mortify her into ending the jokes about it.

 

Allison called every day he was gone, at seven PM, as agreed.

 

Luckily, his trip coincided with Lydia having a mid summer break in her college classes, and Allison reported that they spent their days in museums downtown. In recent summers it was all he and Victoria could do to get Allison outside, and he wondered if Victoria might be pleased that she was spending all her time at the beach and exploring the city.

 

Orlando was humid. Albuquerque was New Mexico. His clients had an unbalanced sensational view on his products, which he supposed was what he got for striking up a new client base. On his last morning in Albuquerque his client alerted him to a new range that was opening up that might be looking for a supplier. Normally he would have extended the trip to chase the new client, but instead Chris smiled tightly and stepped out of the room to switch to an earlier flight.

 

He found Allison at the high school track as the sun was setting. They put her in the public school despite it's lackluster test scores because there were no openings in the private schools in January. He and Victoria planned to switch her to the private school if they remained in Chicago, which they appeared to be but Chris was sure it was too late in the summer to interview for a spot at a different school, and he thought it would be better for Allison to stay in a school where she had some friends and a competent social worker.

 

Maybe she was considering going out for the track team. She and Isaac were lining up at the starting line in perfect form. They took off, running with all their might at the 100 yard line. Allison's technique was perfect, cultivated by coaching when she was still competing in national archery competitions. Isaac was headstrong, clearly untrained but _fast._ He passed Allison at the 10 meter mark then slowed down, allowing her to pass him at 90 meters.

 

Chris got out of his car, knowing that it was only a matter of seconds before Allison noticed his car and she would not appreciate being watched. As he walked over she clocked his presence but kept her focus on speaking firmly to Isaac. Chris couldn't hear her, but based on her gesturing and Isaac holding up his hands up defensively, he could imagine what she was saying.

 

_"Did you just let me win? Do you know how insulting that is? Go back, we're doing that again for real."_

 

They walked back to the starting line and Allison called out, "I see you, just hold on." Chris took a seat on the metal bench and watched as they took the 100 meter again, Isaac beating her this time by several seconds.

 

Neither of them were dressed to run, and Allison was barefoot and wearing a light dress over her swimsuit. He imagined they had spent the day at the beach again, and walked over when it started to cool down. Allison crossed her arms and spoke to Isaac for a moment, then split away from him and walked to Chris.

 

"How'd you find me?" she started.

 

"Hello Allison, I'm very happy to see you."

 

She took the bottled water he offered her. "Hi Dad, how did you find me?"

 

The truth was much less sensational than she was expecting. "I was driving to the beach and saw your car. How long have you been here?"

 

Allison glanced over to where Isaac was standing twenty feet away from them, pretending to examine the tennis courts across the street. "We just go here. They closed the water because of bacteria levels. I know that's gross, but we hadn't gone in the water today. I thought you were coming home tonight?" She emptied the water bottle and handed it back to him.

 

He was under the impression that she was with Lydia today, but it wouldn't be productive to question her about that. "Yes, you can never get out of New Mexico too quickly. I assume my being here won't interfere with any of your plans."

 

Allison rolled her eyes, "No more than it usually does."

 

"I have an application on my phone that works as a timer," he offered, "Would you like to go again? I think I have pair of your shoes in my car."

 

She shrugged and relayed the offer to Isaac who also shrugged. As she retrieved the only pair of sneakers from his trunk, Isaac walked to the starting line. He arched away from Chris, staying out of speaking distance but cut his gaze back towards Chris and tracked Allison as she returned to the car.

 

Allison directed the two of them through a circuit, repeating each distance at least twice and shouting to Chris "Did you get that?" after each run, and proceeding after Chris gave her a thumbs up. He noted their times on the notes application on his phone. Allison was faster than he remembered, though he wasn't sure he ever had raw data on her speed since it was only a side part of her training as an archer. After each race the two of them took their time walking back to the starting line. After the two hundred meter they stopped walking in the dead center of the track and had a two minute conversation, during which Isaac continued to glance at Chris with very little discretion.

 

"We're just going to do the 400 then we're done," Allison told him. For the first time Allison beat Isaac by a wide margin and when she passed the finish line she called back, "Are you faking?!" and Isaac shouted, "No!"

 

The 400 stopped right in front of Chris's bench, and he walked over and offered them the emergency water bottles he'd retrieved from his trunk. The sun had set, and the track lights were disconnected for the summer so the were lit only by the street lights.

 

"I hope you're both going out for track in the fall," he said, "That was impressive."

 

Isaac looked at him surprised but Allison replied, "It's too late, the try outs were in the spring."

 

"They might have walk ons though," Isaac said to her.

 

"They don't," Allison said. She crushed the plastic water bottle between her palms and set to unlacing the old sneakers. "Even if they did, I can't think of a more pointless sport than running in a circle."

 

Pointing out that she had spent the past hour doing just that would also be unproductive, so Chris chose to say, "I did track in high school. I enjoyed it."

 

Allison shrugged at that. He was sure she didn't know that about him, he wasn't the type to display medals around his home but it was still an unimpressive revelation especially compared to the things she had learned about him in the past year. It was Isaac who asked, "What were your times?" sounding genuinely interested.

 

Chris did know his times off the top of his head, though he wasn't sure why. He was never the star runner, and his father hated that he displayed his mediocrity year after year. Objectively he knew his times were still impressive, and Allison actually looked up in surprised when he said his 200 meter time. Isaac whistled appreciatively.

 

"Can you still do it in 22 seconds?" he asked.

 

"Of course not," Allison said immediately, "He's old now." Chris smiled at hearing the playful tone in her voice.

 

"Are you sure about that? Care to put your money where your mouth is?"

 

"You wanna race?" she said, smiling now.

 

"Winner buys dinner."

 

He showed Isaac how to work the timer on his phone. He hadn't sprinted in over a decade, and as he braced at the starting line the sense memory of where to put his hands and feet came flooding back.

 

Allison laughed and copied his form. "Don't be too embarrassed when I win," she said.

 

When Allison won she made a show of calling Plaza Pizzeria on her cell phone in front of him and saying "My father, former track star, will be paying in cash." When he got home with the pizza Allison and Isaac were in the living room trying to hook up the DVD player.

"Sir," Isaac said when he saw Chris, "You left your phone with me." He walked over to Chris and placed it on the counter in front of the pizzas. "Is it alright if I stay for dinner?"

 

"Of course," Chris said. He had assumed that Allison would drive Isaac back to whatever neighborhood he lived in. He never stayed for dinner when Chris asked Allison to bring him, but the one time he didn't Isaac was there. Chris wondered at what point at the track Isaac had decided that Chris wouldn't shoot him.

 

When he came back from work trips he had a routine that he did not like to disturb, so while the kids ate pizza and battled with extension cords, he put all his clothes in the laundry and changed his bed sheets. When he was finished they were done eating and had the menu for Singing in the Rain up on the television.

 

"I didn't realize we have this on DVD," he said. Victoria loved old musicals, but she liked to wait for them to come on TV, so they were like a surprise they happened upon.

 

Allison clicked through the menu, exploring special features. "There was a box of them for sale at the bookstore downtown. Isaac's never seen this, can you believe it?"

 

"I'm as shocked at you are," Isaac said dryly. Chris couldn't imagine he had any interest in watching the movie, but he remembered how it was to be young and do anything to be around the girl you had a crush on. "There's a whole pizza with fish in there," Isaac told him.

 

"Yes that's for me. Allison refuses to share a pizza that has anchovies on it."

 

"Because it's horrid and does not belong on pizza," Allison sang, "You wouldn't eat a pizza with anchovies, would you Isaac?"

 

Isaac leaned back on the couch and looked between them, knowing he was caught. "I don't like most things."

 

Chris helped himself to two pieces. "Don’t worry Isaac. I don't expect any of you young people to understand the food of an older generation.”

 

"There’s not a generation for bad taste. Are you going to watch it with us?" Allison asked, sounding hopeful.

 

"No," he said, "I have some work to wrap up. I'll come out later." The truth was watching one of Victoria's movies was too vulnerable, and he wasn't sure he could do it with Allison in the room, much less one of her young friends. He didn't understand how she could so readily share it with Isaac, and not fall to pieces in front of him.

 

Whenever he found excuses to open his door he heard whispers and shuffling movement over the couch cushions. In the short time it took him to walk from his office to the living room they were sitting on separate cushions with four inches of space between their shoulders. Allison was more invested in the movie than she ever was when she watched it with her mother--she actually shushed him when he opened the refrigerator.

 

When the movie ended he announced that he would be driving Isaac home, as Allison had a provisional license and should not be driving this late at night.

 

"Well then I'm coming with you," she insisted, "You don't even know where he lives."

 

“You can certainly come along,” Chris said.

 

"It's fine, Allison," Isaac said, glancing at her, "You know, I actually know where I live too."

 

Chris did not expect Isaac to willingly get in a car alone with him, and noted that within a few hours he'd progressed further than it took for Chris to with Victoria's parents in the first year they were together. Of course, the situation was very different and hopefully Isaac was nothing like Chris was in back then.

 

He wasn't thrown off when Isaac directed him to the west side of town. Based his shoes alone Chris had assumed he didn't live in the same neighborhood. He noticed that Isaac didn't know street names, and instead said, "Up there, turn there," to direct him.

 

He saw this as his best chance to get information without Allison interfering. If he managed not to alienate this kid, Allison would be more likely to stay around the house and Chris knew he was already on rocky ground with Isaac. He was slouched in his seat with his arms crossed and didn’t say a word aside from the vague directions.

 

“Did you play a sport at your old school?” Chris asked casually. If he could get him to say something easy they could work backwards from there.

 

“Yeah.”

 

So this was how it was going to be.

 

“Which one?”

 

“What?”

 

“What sport did you play?”

 

“Lacrosse. And hockey. Take a right up there.”

 

There couldn’t be many schools with both lacrosse and hockey. As he understood it most public schools in this city had bad sports facilities, which was part of why they hesitated to leave Allison in a public school. If she wanted to pick up gymnastics or archery again, they wanted her is a place with resources available to her.

 

“I never cared much for contact sports,” Chris said, after carefully considering how to express disapproval without ending the conversation, “As I understand it those games can get rather violent.”

 

“They don’t let you get away with that much in the high school games,” Isaac said, “Especially in lacrosse.”

 

_Let you._

 

"Would you like me to write down your times from today?" Chris offered when they got on a major street, "I recorded them on my phone."

 

Isaac was quiet for a moment then asked, "Why?"

 

"If you want to train to go out for the track team, it can be your baseline," Chris explained, "Allison loves to disagree with me, but I'm sure there are walk ons in the fall."

 

"Oh. No. Thanks but I’m not going to do track,” Isaac said dismissively, “My brother did track.”

 

It was possible, he knew, that Isaac was just not aware of how fast he was especially if he hadn't done track before. "You wouldn’t be the first siblings in the world to play the same sport. You ran a 100 in 11.8 seconds in poor conditions. I'm sure Briarwood had varsity runners that can't do that."

 

"I'm not that fast," Isaac said, as though he hadn’t just heard data to the contrary, "Camden set the state record. He could do a 400 in 47 seconds flat. No one's broken it since. I can’t do that.”

Someone else, someone better, might be able to point out how unreasonable Isaac’s logic was, but Chris had never been able to fully shake the belief anything short of the best was unacceptable. It wasn’t his job to convince Isaac of anything, in any case. He wasn’t his father.

 

As they passed a known drug den, he worried that Allison may have been driving Isaac home at night while he was gone.

 

"Does Allison ever drive you home?" he asked.

 

"She usually goes home before dark," Isaac said, seeming to guess what Chris was asking.

 

"You two are spending a lot of time together."

 

Isaac shrugged. His arms were pulled tight over his midsection and he was staring straight ahead. "We have a lot in common."

 

They did appear to have a lot in common, Chris had to acknowledge, from their meeting in an antique store to their athleticism. He appreciated that unlike other boys Allison had encountered Isaac seemed to listen to her and was not intimidated by her strength.

 

Chris followed his directions to a large warehouse with a sign in front advertising lofts for rent. Next to him Isaac grew noticeably more tense, and Chris wondered if the change in neighborhood was responsible. While he was relieved that Isaac lived in an area populated by disaffected rich college students, past the truly dangerous neighborhoods, it was not what he expected.

 

"Does your family live here?" he asked.

 

"No," Isaac laughed, "No, I live with my brothers friend. He thinks living here makes him edgy."

 

"He's your legal guardian?" Chris asked.

 

"Uh, yeah." Isaac unbuckled his seatbelt. He opened the door but didn't move to get out of the car. For a moment they sat in silence, then Isaac seemed to make a decision and turned towards Chris.

 

Looking straight at Chris he said, "I'm looking out for Allison. Just so you know."

 

Chris didn't like the sound of that, but he knew he'd get more if he waited. Isaac seemed to steel himself as he took a deep breath, "My mom killed herself too. I was younger and it wasn’t—it was different. But I know what it's like."

 

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Chris said. It explained further why the two of them were spending so much time together.

 

"It's fine," Isaac waved his hand like he wanted to remove Chris's pity from the car, "That’s not what I'm saying. I know what it does to people, and I won’t let anything happen to Allison."

 

For a minute Chris thought that Isaac too had noticed that Allison was cagey and recognized that it was a problem and that he was offering that he would also make sure she recovered well. He was struck by the maturity of a teenage boy to notice that, and take the initiative to speak to her father. Then he noticed Isaac's hand gripped tight on the door handle.

 

"What does it do to people?" Chris asked.

 

Isaac started, "My dad—” but cut himself off. "I've seen what it does to people. And I won’t let anything happen to her."

 

His hand was on the door handle so he could jump out of the car if he needed to.

 

Isaac stayed at least five feet away from Chris until he got in the car.

 

Weeks ago Allison explained why Isaac stayed away, _“I had to spend a massive amount of time convincing him you weren’t going to shoot anyone.”_

 

Isaac was telling Chris that he would protect Allison from _him._

 

It had nothing to do with him, Chris told himself. This was in many ways his worst nightmare, that someone would look at him and instinctively know that he was not cut out for this, that he shouldn’t be a parent.

 

Victoria kept meticulously curated photo albums in their bedroom and when Chris was spinning she would pull them out. She pointed at photos of Allison’s first Halloween, her twelfth birthday party, Chris sitting on the floor with her having a tea party. _“This is a healthy happy child,”_ she would say, _“We did that, you and me.”_

 

Chris didn’t have the photo albums, so he pictured them the best he was able. Any fear or anger he felt, Chris pushed to the back of his mind so he could deal with this moment as effectively as possible.

 

Isaac was projecting. He read about this in the book, too. Isaac thought that the same pattern that occurred in his family would happen in Allison's because he didn’t know another pattern existed. Chris was projecting too, because Isaac never said that he thought Chris would hurt her, but he knew exactly what he was saying.

 

“Your father hurt you,” Chris said.

 

It wasn’t a question but Isaac said, “Yes sir,” then waited, watching Chris for what he would do next.

 

It had nothing to do with Chris.

 

Nothing.

 

"I'm not going to hurt Allison," Chris said firmly. "Her safety is the most important thing to me."

 

"I'll know if you do," Isaac said.

 

It was unbelievable, the foolhardiness of this kid. He genuinely believed Chris was reckless enough to shoot his daughters friends, and posed a danger to Allison. In response, he got Chris alone in a car in the middle of a bad neighborhood at 11 at night to tell him he was onto him. Based on Isaac's understanding of Chris he could not be in more danger, yet he was staring Chris down.

 

“Did Allison tell you I was hurting her?”

 

“No but…” But she wouldn’t, Isaac probably assumed.

 

“Did she say anything that made you think I would?”

 

For as angry as Allison had been at him lately, he prepared himself for an enthusiastic yes, but Isaac looked chastised and shrugged.

 

“If she ever tells you I hurt her,” Chris said, grinding the words out, “You have my express permission to do whatever she believes is necessary to keep her safe. But I don’t anticipate that will be needed.”

 

This clearly wasn’t what he was expecting, and Chris saw Isaac’s grip on the car door handle loosen. “She didn’t put me up to this,” Isaac insisted.

 

“I know.” He was confident that the possibility of her father harming her had never crossed Allison’s mind. He worked damn hard to be the kind of parent with a kid who was scandalized when she found out that other parents did anything more than time-outs. This wasn’t coming from her. “It’s okay that you want to look out for Allison. I just hope you can believe you don’t have to worry about this.”

 

Isaac let go off the door handle and rubbed his hand over his eyes. “She’d think I was crazy if she knew about this” he groaned, “Like, I think she’d be seriously pissed.”

 

 _Good._ “Allison doesn’t have to know about this conversation if you would like to keep it between us,” Chris offered.

 

“…sure.”

 

It had nothing to do with him.

 

“This person,” he said, nodding toward the warehouse, “that you live with. Are they treating you well?”

 

Isaac dropped his hand from his eyes and looked out the window. “He’s kind of an idiot. But he has food and stuff.”

 

He would need more information about this person another day, but tonight he suspected that neither of them could tolerate more conversation and Isaac was not in immediate danger. “You are welcome over at our apartment any time,” he said, “If you and Allison are spending this much time together, I’d prefer some of it be indoors. There is such a thing as too much sun.” He found a piece of paper and jotted down his number. “Do you have a phone?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Chris wondered what his life would have been if one adult had ever offered him this. “I’m sure you have Allison’s number, but you can call me if you need to.”

 

“For what?”

 

“If you need help.”

 

Isaac took the paper with his free hand and examined the number Chris wrote down. “ _Seriously?_ I just threatened you. _”_

 

“You did.” He paused, considering his words before saying, “Someone should be looking out for you too.”

 

Isaac looked at him with naked disbelief, like he was seeing something completely unprecedented. He knew without any doubt that no one had ever spoken to Isaac this way either.

 

Chris thought of the hours he had spent imagining someone accusing him of hurting Allison, and the hours, decades before that, that he imagined an adult offering help without expectation. He never imagined them playing out in same moment, or that he would be the adult being looked at like an unknown creature.

 

For the first time he wondered at the odds that Allison would meet _this kid_ in a store and bring him into their lives.

 

They sat illuminated under the streetlights. Chris prepared for dismissal or another sideways accusation. Isaac blinked and looked away, folding the piece of paper carefully into a small square. He opened the door the rest of the way and got out of the car without a word.

 

When he got home Allison was in her pajamas on the couch, watching interviews on the Singing in the Rain DVD. While he was gone she made a pot of hot cocoa, leaving a mess in the kitchen and a mug with cold cocoa for him. Chris put the mug in the microwave and started wiping down the counters.

 

“How was the drive?” she called, sounding distracted enough that he knew Isaac hadn’t told he what happened.

 

“I hope you’ve never been that far west,” he said.

 

“Oh you know me,” she said regally, “If I ventured west of Michigan Avenue my diamond shoes will get scratched.”

 

He retrieved his mug from the microwave walked over to the couches. “Do you know how to play Gin Rummy?” she asked, “Lydia taught me.” Allison tapped her nails on a deck of cards in her hands, looking at him expectantly.

 

“You want to play now?” he asked.

 

“Unless you were about to go to sleep.”

 

Chris sat heavily on the couch and started unlacing his boots. “I don’t think I’ve played this game since the eighties.”

 

Allison started dealing the cards. She was using a novelty deck her bought her years ago at an airport in San Francisco with the Golden Gate Bridge on the back.

 

In his mind Chris took a snapshot of this moment and added it to the photo albums.

 

“That’s okay,” Allison said, “I can teach you whatever you forgot.”


	3. Chapter 3

 “You should invite Bennett over,” Allison said one night during a game of Gin Rummy.

 

Chris reviewed their conversation and found no reason for her to bring Bennett up. “Why do you say that?”

 

“I just think it’d be nice to have one of your friends over. He hasn’t seen the new place. And you like him the best.”

 

Bennett was a twenty-four year old based in South Dakota who he hired right out of high school. Chris met him on an army base where his mother as stationed and knew right away that he would take him on. It was an unorthodox hire, but Bennett both had an encyclopedic knowledge of weapons and intense respect for them. He was the only member of Argent Arms he trusted to say no to the right clients and make the big decisions while Chris stepped back.

“Bennett is an employee,” Chris said, shifting his cards, “I don’t like any of my employee’s ‘best.’ Even if I did, I believe Bennett has better things to do than visit his boss. Do you want to see Bennett? As I recall you were fond of him on our last visit.”

 

“Um, no,” Allison said, “I think you should see one of your friends though. You must be bored with only me to talk to.”

 

He tried not to be insulted that Bennett was the closest thing that Allison could come up with for a friend. “We’ll see Katia and Matthéo when we go to Nice. I can remain friendless for a few more weeks.”

 

Allison went to take her turn and stopped, looking at him with furrowed brows. “We’re going to France?”

 

Shit. How could this surprise her? They talked—well maybe they last talked about going to France months ago but international travel wasn’t easily forgotten. “Yes, did you think we weren’t?”

 

She dropped her cards and shook her head. “We normally leave months ago. You didn’t say anything. I thought we were staying home because of Mom.”

 

“Allison, we were always going to go in early August because of your job at the camp.”

 

“But I didn’t work there.”

 

“Yes, I remember that. The plan didn’t change. Katia and Matthéo already rented our apartment out for July.” She took a deep breath and took her turn, moving more quickly than she had before. “Would you rather go to the lake house in Massachusetts?”

 

“Nope, I’m laked out,” she said, her words clipped.

 

They played a few rounds in silence. He supposed he took for granted that Allison would remember everything he said, especially since long term plans in their family were subject to changing without much warning. He never told Allison that part of his new parenting style was changing that.

 

He also never told her that he had a new parenting style.

“I think we need to get better at communication,” he said.

 

“We?” she said crisply.

 

“I do.”

 

They played another hand in nearly silence until Allison said, “You’re actually doing fine,” before showing him her winning hand.

 

* * *

 

 

The month of July passed quickly. Chris found an account doing security consulting for a city building that helped pass the days. Allison continued to split her time between Isaac and Lydia, the latter of whom once spent three full days in their apartment.

 

“My dad’s new house is all the way in Norridge. No thanks!” Lydia said when he found her unpacking the linen closet box at 1 AM. When Allison left the room she conspiratorially said to Chris, “I think she’s done better, don’t you?”

 

Chris was not in the habit of discussing his daughter with her school friends, but he couldn’t help but engage with Lydia. “Do you think so?”

 

“Totally. The average profound grief period is twelve months and she’s coming up on six. She’s almost over the hump,” Lydia said brightly. “I read about that in an adolescent development journal. I can forward it to you if you like.”

 

It reminded him why he didn’t particularly like Lydia, though he appreciated knowing that someone besides him and an impulsive teenage boy cared about her.

 

Allison resumed going on runs and 6 AM and half of the mornings she came home with Isaac in tow. Sometimes they came back with plastic bags of fruit from the store and made smoothies. The blender woke Chris up one morning, but he didn’t mind when he came out to Allison holding a neon colored smoothie out to him saying, “Carrot is good for your eyes.”

 

It felt good to have somewhere to go during the days. The security staff at the city building resented him at first, of course, but were dazzled when he showed them ways to shorten their patrol without sacrificing civilian safety. He forgot, sometimes, that his hard won skillset made him special in the eyes of anyone who knew anything about security.

 

He came home a few hours earlier than usual one day to find a quiet apartment. Allison and Isaac’s shoes were by the door, but her bedroom door was closed and the living room empty. After securing the apartment he ran into Allison who swiftly shut her bedroom door behind her and ushered Chris into the kitchen.

 

“Hi Dad!” she said brightly, “How was work? Isn’t it fun that I get to say that to you now?”

 

Chris pretended not to notice the sound of her bedroom door opening and Isaac quietly letting himself out the front door. Alison chattered on, taking the Barnes and Noble bag out of his hands and examining the books he brought for her. It would worked as a distraction for anyone else.

 

There were times that it was clear that Isaac and Allison had feelings for each other. When they choose was movies to watch they smiled at one another even when they argued and emanated adoration that made Chris miss the 80’s. Other times though, most times, they seemed like two people who were on the same orbit and found ways to get along while they were on the same ride. Allison vehemently denied that they were in a relation ship and they never so much as brushed elbows in his presence.

 

So much to say, Chris was not completely prepared for this moment.

 

“Is he being nice to you?” he asked her abruptly.

 

If the question caught Allison off guard she recovered quickly, “Yes, he’s very nice.”

 

“And he listens to you? If you said no, he would listen.”

 

“Yeah,” she said, smoothing the plastic bag out on the counter. “But that…hasn’t come up yet.”

 

His parenting books never talked about this moment. He cleared his throat and looked around the room for visual aids for this conversation. A mango? A flow chart on why not to ask your wife to handle all the sex conversations?

 

“Did your mother ever take you to see a gynecologist?”

 

“Oh my god dad!” Why was that what got a reaction? That was easiest thing Chris said in the conversation. “Yes, we saw one on February. I had a follow up two weeks ago.”

 

“Do you need anything from me?”

 

“ _Dad.”_

“Well. I know it can be embarrassing to buy condoms but—”

 

Allison covered her eyes and sighed dramatically. “We’re fine. A little notice before you come home from now on would be nice though.”

 

* * *

 

 

Deliveries continued to show up at the apartment, sometimes without notice. Based on the delivery slips Allison was driving as much as two hours to antique stores and specialty boutiques. She chose white painted woods and green accents. On a Sunday she took all their prints to a framers and spent the next day with Isaac carefully choosing places to hang them.

 

The apartment felt light and lived in. He could imagine Allison leaving for school and coming come to do homework in this place.

 

He had the feeling that Isaac had nearly given up his belief that Chris was a threat. He occasionally initiated conversations and listened eagerly when Chris explained how to choose the most secure spot on a beach. Allison still spent nearly all of her day at the beach and came home alone. But Isaac began appearing an hour or so after dinner nearly every day and stayed until Chris announced it was time to go home.

 

When it rained for a week Allison spent the entire time baking with Isaac. They only stopped to buy more butter and eggs. On the first night Chris came home on the first day to find the entire dining room tabled covered in at least four batches of Victoria’s lemon cookies and the sound of Allison and Isaac arguing in the kitchen.

 

“Do you think it’s the butter? Should we be melting it?” Allison asked frantically.

 

“I don’t know?”

 

“What do you mean you don’t now?”

 

“What have I ever said that indicated I have made cookies before?”

 

“This isn’t a joke. Everyone knows how to do this.”

 

“I. don’t. know.”

 

“Anyone on the street would be more helpful than you’re being right now!” Allison said, her voice rising to hysterical.

 

Chris chose that moment to make his presence known. The kitchen was a mess. The sink was piled high with bowls and there was a pile of flour on the floor. Allison has flour streaked through her hair and she was clutching three sticks of butter between her hands. Isaac stood very close despite their raised voices and looked relieved when he saw Chris.

 

“Softened means room temperature, not melted,” Chris said.

 

When Allison saw him her face screwed up, but she smoothed it instantly. “We’ve been trying all day and none of them taste right. They’re all terrible and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

 

“You chose a hard recipe,” he said calmly, “It often took your mother a few tries too.”

 

Allison considered that for a moment then put the butter down. “There must be something she didn’t write down. None of them taste right. Why didn’t you make sure she wrote it all down?” she demanded.

 

“She did. You know your mother. She was meticulous. It’s a hard recipe,” he walked over and at the same time Isaac peeled away. “Do you want me to show you how to soften the butter quickly?”

 

“You should try the other cookies I made. They’re all terrible,” she said miserably.

 

“I’m sure they are. I’m here now and I can help you.”

 

They make three more batches. They fell into a natural rhythm and Allison slowly calmed down. Isaac was a complete novice and Chris managed not to show his surprise at having to explain teaspoons and tablespoons to a nearly grown person. The cookies they had made so far looked fine, but were a little off despite Allison insisting they followed the recipe perfectly, so they experimented a bit. Chris always preferred to cut the sugar content in Victoria’s recipes, but held off on suggest that since he had the feeling that following Victoria’s recipe was the point for Allison.

 

While they cooked she absentmindedly listed off everywhere she remembered her mom making the cookies, and how all the other moms at her school in Colorado wanted the recipe. Isaac perked up and asked, “Did she write this stuff down while you were in Colorado?”

 

Chris checked the date in her recipe book. “Yes, we must have been.”

 

“Don’t you have to change the measurements when you bake at a high altitude?” Isaac asked grinning, “This would have worked in Colorado but not here. That’s why they taste wrong.”

 

Allison came to look at the recipe book. “Would that affect it that much?”

 

“Yes, nearly all of the ingredients would be reduced or increased,” Chris said. He looked over at Isaac, “How did you know that?”

 

“PBS?” Isaac said, unsure.

 

“That was very good,” Chris said, and Isaac smiled, pleased with himself.

 

It took some research but when they remade the recipe with adjusted measurements it was perfect. Allison sat on the floor in front of the oven ate one slowly. “They’re actually not that amazing.” Chris prepared for another meltdown but she said, “But they’re the same,” and finished three cookies before she stood up.

 

By the time the kitchen was clean it was much too late to let Allison drive to the west side. Neither Isaac nor Allison protested when Chris announced he was driving Isaac home. He’d done it several times now, as a byproduct of Isaac staying later and later at the apartment.

 

In the car Isaac played with the ziplock bag with his share of the lemon cookies, tipping it side to side and letting the cookies fall. Chris winced at the thought of them falling apart before they reached the warehouse. “Today was fun,” he said out of nowhere.

 

“You had a good time?” Chris asked.

 

“Yeah,” Isaac said, “After Allison felt better, I mean. It’s weird that anyone can just make cookies. It’s just what, butter and sugar and salt?”

 

“Eggs and flour help,” Chris said gently, “Have you ever baked before?”

 

The answer was obviously no, the only thing Isaac was at all comfortable doing was cracking eggs which he did with great panache. Allison wasn’t particularly experienced either, she always preferred to sit on a stool and watch her parents at work though they did teach her the basics. Chris remembered when she needed to bake a French dish for her history project she tricked him into doing it then turned it in along with a soulful paper on how folding the layers of puff pastry made her feel connected to her ancestors.

 

“Nope,” Isaac said, “My dad’s idea of baking was microwaving a SmartOnes brownie. Everything I know about baking came from PBS.”

 

“It was certainly enough today,” Chris said, “If you hadn’t figured out that the altitude measurements was the problem we’re still be making lemon cookies now.” Chris glanced over and saw Isaac smile. “I didn’t know very much about baking until I met Allison’s mother.

 

“She has a whole plan to make cookies until it stops raining. I don’t know what she’s going to do with all of them.” He was still playing with the bag of cookies that were visibly crumbling, which only seemed to encourage Isaac. At this rate Isaac would get rid of half the cookies they made this way. He shook the bag once hard. “Allison told me you’re going to France next week.”

 

“Yes, we go every year. Have you ever been?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Isaac said sarcastically, “Who doesn’t have a flat in the south of France?”

 

Allison must not have told him that they did indeed fact have a flat in the south of France. “Cahen is a French name,” Chris said as an explanation.

 

Isaac raised his eyebrows, he looked a little happy. “It is? Does that mean I’m French?”

 

In the span of less then a second the kid switched from guarded and sarcastic to open and vulnerable. It was an odd pattern Chris picked up on when Isaac started spending more time at home. “At least on your fathers side.”

 

And in another second he switched back to guarded. Isaac shifted away for Chris in his seat and pulled his seatbelt against his chest. “Cahen’s my mom’s name. Her maiden name. My last name’s really Lahey. I told you it was Cahen because of the whole—first impressions. Didn’t want to make it easy for you to find me.”

 

Jesus.

 

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

 

It had made it difficult for Chris to find Isaac. It wouldn’t have stopped Victoria but it stopped him.

 

What was he trying to hide?

 

“Should I be worried that you lied to me?” Chris asked.

 

“I don’t know. It seemed necessary at the time. I didn’t know it would turn out like this. Are you mad at me?” Isaac asked seriously.

Chris was minimally upset, likely less than he should have been. Isaac was clearly lying defensively and admitted to it with no prompting. Chris physically turned off any external sign that he was angry. He made an effort to keep his shoulders low and smooth his face to neutral. It could be too late though; he suspected that Isaac would have noticed if he exhaled with a fraction more force than normal.

 

_Who’s projecting now?_

 

“I am concerned. If you thought it was necessary to protect yourself, you made the right decision. I’m glad you no longer feel that way.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I am. I would ask that you not lie to me again about major information.”

 

“Don’t threaten to shoot me again then.”

 

Chris never threatened to _shoot_ Isaac, he just referenced his guns in his presence, but he knew that Allison had made that argument numerous times and it didn’t change Isaac’s mind.

 

“I won’t do that either.”

 

“Okay.”

 

He did believe that Isaac lied out of his overactive sense of self preservation, and Chris probably would have done the same when he was younger. It was a clumsy overreach, but it was understandable.

 

He remembered when he started college classes he was still working for his father. Gerard called and demanded he take a job in Japan during his first semester of final exams. When he protested that it was impossible for him to go, Gerard snapped, “You want easy? Change your last name.”

 

Sometimes he wished he did. Maybe Isaac did too. It alarmed him how little it took to sympathize with Isaac to such a degree. If Jake lied to him about his last name Chris would have found an excuse to kick him out of his car, west side be damned.  

 

When they reached the warehouse Isaac started to get out of the car then ducked down his head and asked again, “Are you sure you’re not mad at me?”

 

If he was feeling any anger in this moment it was not at Isaac, but at the person who made him hyper aware of any shift in mood. “Are you able to tell when someone is angry?” he asked, taking care not to let his feelings show.

 

“Yeah, usually.” Isaac paused, searching Chris for a moment. “I guess you’re not.”

 

“I’m not. We’ll see you tomorrow then. I believe Allison has her heard set on orange crisps.”

 

Isaac shut the door and as he walked away Chris heard him say, _“Fucking Jedi mind tricks.”_


	4. Chapter 4

The trip to France was familiar and alien at the same time. It was the first time he’d travelled with Allison without Victoria by his side. Victoria found ways to make trips fun—spontaneous purchases from airport convience stores, or ordering triple dishes from the airport lounge—which made Chris’ travelling style stark and business like by comparison. He rushed them through the airport, not bothering with the longue, and forced them to sit in the gate for over an hour because he would not risk being away from the door when it was time to board.

 

Allison was patient with him. When he apologized as they were nearing Nice, she shrugged him off.

 

“Katia and Mattheo will have questions,” he said. “I was planning on telling them the truth.

 

“I’ve already told Margaux,” Allison said dismissively, “I told her not to tell her parents, but she might have.”

 

Chris nodded. He almost hoped that Margaux had. He hadn’t had to have a conversation about what happened since he told Victoria’s parents. He was dreading it.

 

When Katia met them at the airport she ran her hand over Allison’s hair and said “So young for such loss” in English, and Allison allowed herself to be hugged. She held tight to Katia while passengers wove around them and Chris put his hand on her back, feeling a weight shift and allow him to release a breath he may had been holding for months.

 

On the drive to the city Katia chatted about the developments in town. Who had had a new baby, who left who in the middle of the town square, the bell that was broken just weeks ago at the church--the bad church not the one with the lemon tree.

 

Allison kept up the best she could, finding her footing as French came back to her. They practiced some at home and at the airport, and within a few hours it was comfortable again.

 

Matthéo and Katia lived across the hall and had for at least since Victoria had inherited the apartment from her uncle twenty years ago. They were a louder type than Chris and Victoria were, and loved to take them to bars and restaurants all over town. They became friends because over twenty years Matthéo and Katia wove past their collective defenses and acted as though they were the dearest of friends until they were. They had twin daughters, only a year older than Allison, who she idolized as a child. At the end of each summer they sent Allison home with a case of the girls clothes that Allison wore all year.

 

When they reached the building, a butcher shop with two flats above it, Allison only went far enough into their apartment to put her suitcase down before bee lining to the other apartment in search of Margaux and Astrid. Mattheó and Katia knew him well enough to give him twenty minutes before turning up with a bottle of wine and a salami.

 

Katia was a slight woman with hair that went gray in her late twenties that she wore piled on her head. She dressed in bright red shawls and clunky shoes that would be considered eccentric in America. Matthéo had thick dark hair and a beard that grew bushier every summer. When the girls were younger Chris and Matteó ended every summer with a three-country hike. Mattheó’s bad knee put and end to that, and he wore a white brace around one pant leg.

 

Back home his limited social life was a function of their lifestyle. Victoria job moved her across the country as the market changed, and Chris was never in the business of comparing trucks over a barbeque with the man next door. Most of his clients, while respectable, saw him as the man with the guns. The role either inspired undue admiration or trepidation. Victoria had a small group of college who she flew out to see once in a while but he never felt particularly moved to join her. He could count his friends on one hand, starting with Matthéo and Katia.

 

They toasted, “To old friends!” and if anyone teared up while they drank, it wasn’t commented on.

 

“What a year you have had,” Katia said, after they had spent come time catching up, carefully talking around Victoria’s absence. “So much loss is hard on a person.”

 

“What do you know?” Chris asked. He truly didn’t know, the only contact he had with them was to update the travel plans. They sent a long condolsences email with memories of Victoria, and mailed a framed painting by a local artist she loved. He skimmed both.

 

“The girls talked, you know how they are,” Matthéo said, “Margaux told us about your poor sister, and Victoria. All she told us was she had a brain tumor, she said Allison wanted you to have the chance to speak with us. Honor is very important to her these days. I’m afraid we have to ask you more. Forgive me.”

 

“Of course,” Chris said. Early on he and Allison decided they would tell the truth. There were better, neater stories that he could tell that would shield both Victoria and Allison, but Allison valued the truth. She was the one who would have to tell the stories, so he honored her, even if Chris would rather keep the circumstances of Victoria’s death private. He was sure Allison was filling in Astrid and Margaux at that moment. She told Lydia and likely told Isaac.

 

Healthy children, he reminded himself, didn’t hoard family secrets.

 

“Victoria noticed last fall that she was beginning to have unusual headaches. When we moved to Chicago she went on waiting lists to see a neurologists, but she wasn’t able too see one for several months. The wait may have contributed to the problem.”

 

“The American health machine,” Matthéo muttered. Katia shushed him.

 

He switched to English, hoping Katia and Matthéo’s grasp of medical English was better than his of French. “She was diagnosed with Primary central nervous system lymphoma. It’s a cancer of the lymph tissues of the brain. She had small tumors around her brain stem” He went back to French, “It explained the headaches, and other symptoms she was experiencing.”

 

He was still telling the truth without elaborating on the other distrurbances the tumors brought. The natural mistrust of most of humanity that once bonded them grew beyond what Chris could call cautious. Victoria became furious with with anyone who spoke to Allison, and threatened the high school principal. She was convinced that Allison’s boyfriend was a critical threat and in the days before her diagnosis she spoke ominously about getting him out of their lives.

 

When the diagnosis came Chris felt brief relief that the spiky paranoia that had trapped Victoria had an outside source and would end. The relief disappeared when the doctor emotionlessly told them that at this phase treatment would be ineffective. She had six months left, during which her symptoms would progress. The doctor offered a pamphlete on hospice that Victoria threw out in the waiting room. They got a second opinoin and were handed the same pamphlete.

 

The diagnosis gave her clarity, even as she wrestled with the belief that Jake—a sixteen year who ended ever setnence with “sooo, yeah”—needed to disappear. The fact that it was the tumor made her paranoid and effected her judgement didn’t change that Allison could barely look at her.

 

“I’ve already lost her,” she said, sitting on Allison’s bed. Allison had disapperaed again, and they were waiting for her to get home. “And it will only get worse.”

 

“She’ll understand,” he insisted, gripping her hands tight, “Once we explain to her, she will understand. It wasn’t just you, I pushed her away too.”

 

“She blames me,” Victoria said, “And I’m supossed to live out the rest of my days like this, a monster.”

 

He couldn’t talk her out of it.

 

They didn’t talk to Allison before. She wasn’t home long enough for the conversation. Chris thought he had more time. He had to tell her about the tumor, about all of it, in the hopsital hallway while she cried “ _What happened? What happened?”_

Chris held back emotion while he told the story, but Katia and Matthéo did not. He poured them more wine and retrieved tea towels from the kitchen and offered them up. He felt acute regret that he didn’t contact them sooner. Victoria had been a dear friend for nearly half their lives. Living they way that did, it was easy to forget that anyone knew them outside their small family unit.

 

“I should have called,” he said, resolute. “You deserved to hear this sooner.”

 

“You should have called,” Katia agreed thickly, “You should not have taken this on alone. We would have flown out and made you a cake. You always think that you have to handle it all alone, but you don’t.”

 

Chris agreed to end the conversation. Katia had friends across the south shore, how could he explain to her his life in America? Calling for friends to cross the globe, was odd. Weathering it alone was admirable. The compact solidarity that he and Allison had after Victoria’s death was a given, not a choice.

 

Matthéo gave him a knowing look and rubbed Katia’s shoulder. He always understood Chris in a way Katia didn’t, in some was Vicotria didn’t. “You’re here now. You know it’s impossible to go alone when Katia is in the same provence.”

 

They stayed for three weeks and Katia and Matthéo focused all their energy on keeping them occupied. Chris noticed that they introduced new traditions—new hiking paths, nightly trips to the café down the street. It helped mask that the summer could not be the same as all the summers that came before.

 

Allison soaked up Astrid and Margaux’s attention. They took her to get her hair cut and dyed and hemmed Margaux’s old clothes to prepare for the new school year. Astrid was dating a professional sailor—“Terribly boring boy, but what can you do” Katia griped—who took the girls out almost daily, after Chris vetted him. When Allison floated the idea of going on the water she light heartedly said, “I arranged for Jacques to come by the apartment so you can threaten to kill him if I drown.”

 

Katia stayed in their apartment late some nights, and she and Allison talked in hushed tones while Chris pretended to get ready for bed. It was good for her to have a woman to talk to, and he wished for what must have been the hundredth time that he knew someone who Allison could go to.

 

Sometimes, in odd moments that dropped in unexpectedly over a group breakfast or while they neogiated who could shower first it felt like nothing was missing and they could get through this.

 

Matthéo insisted on a final hike, anticipating that his knee may not allow it the next summer. Before he met Matthéo Chris had never scaled a mountain. Matthéo rejected “the American approach” to hiking and did not believe in specialty equipment or well planned out trips. Chris took the reigns on planning their multi country hikes since Matthéo’s approach could kill them, but incidental hikes always emerged out of his spontaneity. In the past they could be in a train station and Matthéo would say, “There is a wonderful pass nearby, let’s just go now,” while Chris was wearing jeans and no sunglasses, it was hard not to spout a dozen reasons taking a hike with no warning would be a mistake.

 

What made it work was Matthéo’s complete acceptance when Chris rejected a plan that was too foolish. Chris knew himself capable of surviving any adverse environment, but hikes with Matthéo rarely required survival. He meandered and took photos with Kodak cameras. Often he got halfway through a trail and announced he had gotten everything out of it that he wanted, but they could proceed for as long as Chris wanted.

 

When Chris protested that Matthéo’s knee couldn’t handle another hike and he would not be responsible for carrying him down the mountain Matthéo scoffed sand said, “Such dramatics from a man who thinks himself a stoic.”

 

They chose a flatter trail near town where Chris knew he had cell phone reception. Matthéo stopped often under the guise of taking photos of flowers with a new digital camera. Back when they started hiking and Chris was a wired twenty two year old Matthéo’s frequent stops chafed on Chris’s instinct had been to move as quickly and efficiently as possible. Now he he had no trouble finding a stone to sit on while Matthéo played with the settings on his camera.

 

When he was done he carefully took a seat next to Chris. “What’s next when you go home?”

 

“Allison starts school,” he said, “She’s going to be a junior. She might go out for track.”

 

Matthéo nodded and paused. “For you, Chris. What are you doing next?”

 

“Oh.”

 

He felt guilty when he thought about his own life. Their life with Victoria was carefully crafted. They moved for her work so that Victoria could be there while Chris travelled across the globe for Argent Arms. Before Bennett it was essential that Chris be present for every single sale because he did not trust anyone else to sniff out a problem. Even in that moment he was aware that Bennett was flying to Missoula checking in with a precinct, and he felt sonar level anxiety that something could go wrong.

 

Bennett loved visiting clients. He sometimes brought his girlfriend and built in an additional day to visit the tourist traps. On their weekly phone calls Bennett found ways to suggest he take on more clients and lately Chris had a harder time finding reasons to say no.

 

Travelling was a young mans game and at forty-two Chris felt ancient. He couldn’t travel the way he used to, not with Allison at home alone. The obvious answer was to delegate client management to Bennett, but without his work he didn’t know what to do with himself. Allison was doing better, and he could not take lurking around his own home waiting for something to happen for the rest his life.

 

He told Matthéo this, the words coming easily while they both fixed their gaze at a point across the valley. When he was done Matthéo nodded and said, “Maybe there are other things you could do.”

 

“Other things.”

 

“Well, you could take a dance class, or start a business selling your chocolate cake,” Matthéo suggested, and it was possible that he wasn’t being hyperbolic, but truly believed that was what Chris should do.

 

“I don’t want to waste my time with frivolous things.”

 

“ _American_ ,” Matthéo admonished, “You have the money, and you have the time. The world will not fall apart if you enjoy yourself a little.”

 

 

 

On the six-month anniversary of Victoria’s death they were in the Chagall museum. They found themselves stationed in front “The Promenade.” It was a painting depicting a man in the foreground holding hands with a woman in a purple dressed who was floating ethereally in the air. The info card described it as a loving tribute to his wife. The info card quoted Chagall saying after she died _"She has flown over my pictures for many years, guiding my art."_

 

Allison didn’t read the info card, she studied the painting and concluded, “It’s sad.”

 

“Do you think so?”

 

“Look, there’s an entire city behind them, and he’s stuck holding onto this lady who can’t come to the ground. She doesn’t want to.” She raised her hand to the height of the floating woman, covering her so that all that left was the man and the city. “He needs to let go.”

 

Chris cleared his throat, “The painting is about his love for his wife.”

 

“Both can be true,” she said simply.

 

Chris lifted his hand had covered the woman too. “Maybe he’s afraid to let go of her.”

 

“She’s not really there,” Allison said, her voice strained, “It’s not helping anyone.”

 

“What do you think what would happen if he did?” he asked.

 

Allison wiped her nose. “They could go to the city and do new things and they wouldn’t have to feel bad about it.”

 

He carefully reached out to put his arm around her, expecting resistance but Allison collapsed into his arms. “They don’t have to feel bad, even if they don’t let go. She doesn’t want them to feel bad.”

 

“Are you sure?” she asked.

 

“Yes. She said as much.”

 

“You need to tell me these things,” she said, wiping her eyes on his shirt.

 

“I promise I’m trying to.”

 

 

That night was consumed with packing and finding room in Katia and Matthéo’s fridge for their leftover food. While Allison was occupied buying a new suitcase for her clothes, Matthéo and Chris sat in front of the computer with some wine. Matthéo pulled up the recreation classes offered in Briarwood.

 

“What is ‘journaling’” Matthéo asked in English.

 

“It’s writing in a diary,” Chris answered in French. “Though, it may be something else if they are offering a class about it. Most Americans know how to write about their internal life without an instructor.”

 

“Maybe this is the class for you,” Matthéo said chuckling. “Dear Diary, today I felt happy. It was concerning.” He laughed loudly at his own joke.

 

It took them almost an hour to get through the catalog with Matthéo’s continual commentary on American culture. While Matthéo was distracted by his own rant about how four sections of Baking for Beginners was four too many, Chris scrolled over the pottery classes being offered.

 

He suggested a couple’s pottery class to Victoria once but she was never interested. Chris always liked the idea of using force to mold soft clay into a work of art. While Matthéo found Katia to update her on the sad state of America, Chris quietly took out his credit card and signed up for a beginner’s class on Saturday mornings.

 

On the plane ride home Allison wrote letters to Astrid and Margaux that she would mail from the first mailbox she saw in Chicago. It was a tradition that Chris couldn’t remember the origins of.

 

When she finished one of the letters she said, “Margaux told me about an exchange program where American student spend a year abroad. She has a friend at university who did it.”

 

“Oh,” Chris said. “I hope you weren’t thinking of doing that this year. The school year starts in three days.”

 

“Oh no,” Allison said, contorting to put the letter in her backpack under the seat in front of her. “I’m not. I’m just saying.”

 

They got in at 3 AM but Chris didn’t mind pulling over at the library so she could run the letter into the blue mailbox.

 

When she got back in the car she said, “I’m ready to be American again.”

 

Chris thought of the apartment that was waiting for them with white wood and over three hundred cookies in the freezer. Allison had school on Monday, and he had another possible client downtown and first pottery class next week.

 

“Me too,” he said.

 

And then he drove home.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Fall came and as promised Allison did not go out for track. She went out for cross country. When she handed him the permission slip she said, “Don’t say it. It’s not at all the same thing as track.”

 

Chris was relieved that Allison was getting involved. He signed the form with such flourish that he tore a hole in the paper crossing the “t” in Argent. He took her out to dinner to celebrate.

 

He privately judged Briarwood High School for calling any anything conducted in an urbanized swamp “cross country”. The training route they had the kids on ran along a flat four-lane road and past a Barnes and Noble. But she excelled regardless.

 

She thrived at Briarwood High. Each month more of Chris’s fears about her grief sticking and making her someone unrecognizable to him fell to the wayside.

 

When she went out with friends she texted him with updates. She stayed home Sunday and did homework on the living room floor with Lydia. She had a whiteboard calendar in her room. She didn’t throw her planner book at any more children and by all reports was a joy to have in class.

 

It was a privilege to have a teenager who was present, who enjoyed going out to dinner and didn’t snatch secrets into the dark while resenting him to not knowing her. His only wish was that Victoria could experience it too.

 

In October, over a dinner celebrating her last meet she causally said, “Are any of your ranges set up for archery?”

 

“There’s one in Pointe that is,” he said, carefully keeping enthusiasm out of his voice. The completive monster in him always wanted to push her to return to archery. She was nationally ranked at twelve years old then dropped it with no explanation. The parenting books advised he let her move on. So he did.

 

Allison hummed. “I’ll need a new bow though.” A few days later he presented her with an ostensibly new bow, because she didn’t need to know that he’d had one her size in storage for years.

 

That weekend they went to the Pointe range with Isaac in tow. While Allison got back in practice with her bow, Chris taught Isaac how to fire a handgun. It seemed the responsible thing to do with his daughter’s boyfriend.

 

After Chris’s careful instruction (and forged permission slip claiming he was Isaac’s guardian) Isaac got off three shots before recoiling and handing the gun to Chris like it was a dead fish.

 

“I can’t believe you do this for _fun_.”

 

It was not the reaction Chris expected. He knew Isaac tended towards aggressive sports, not to mention the fight that he and Allison thought Chris hadn’t heard about. He thought he was introducing a safe outlet for the adrenaline that seemed to thrum through Isaac at all times.

 

He tried to remember if he enjoyed the first time he shot off a handgun, scrolling through memories of standing in his wooded backyard aiming at bottles, but found they all blurred together and _fun_ was not the dominant feeling that came up.

 

Chris took the offered handgun. “It’s not meant to be fun, it’s training.”

 

“For what?”

 

It was a question that only Victoria had ever asked him, that he still didn’t have an answer for. Chris turned the safety on and emptied the chamber onto the platform. With Isaac gone, talking to the young woman who worked up front, Chris started his normal routine over alone.

 

Seemingly overnight their family had expended to include Isaac in nearly every excursion and dinner. While he wasn’t around as much as he was in the summer, his presence was undeniable and more comfortable every month. It was so ubiquitous that Chris started making and labeling lunches for Isaac when he made Allison’s the night before school. He was used to seeing Isaac doing homework at the dining room table most nights, sometimes even after Allison had left to meet up with Lydia.

 

Chris didn’t tell his father about his relationships in high school. Even if he did, he would not have invited them over, much less left them alone in his house. He supposed it must be normal children did, and took it as a good sign.

 

On a Tuesday in November Isaac called and asked Chris to drive him to Romeoville to look at a car. Chris immediately agreed, worried that Isaac would go meet up with a stranger from the internet alone if he didn’t.

On the drive over he asked a question he already knew the answer to, “Why aren’t you in school today?”

 

“Allison didn’t tell you?”

 

“She did not.”

 

The rode in silence for a minute. Isaac offered, “I got in a fight. I’m suspended.”

 

“A fight,” Chris repeated.

 

“I have a friend,” Isaac said slowly, “Who has epilepsy. She had a seizure last week. Someone filmed it and put it on Facebook. I figured out who. So.”

 

“So you fought them?” He saw Isaac shrug in his peripheral vision. “And now you’re suspended and spending the day with your girlfriend’s father. Is your friend happy about the fight?”

 

Isaac scoffed. “No! She’s pissed at me. Allison is too.”

 

“So nothing good came out of it.”

 

“I didn’t hate it.”

 

“How long did that last?” Chris asked.

 

Isaac didn’t have an answer to that.

The car in question was a green Toyota with a duct taped on bumper and a window screened over with plastic wrap. The woman selling it was in her late eighties and said it belonged to her grandson who was overseas. It had 147,000 miles on it, and had been in two “fender benders.” She was charging a thousand dollars.

 

When she started talking price, Chris said, “Would you give us a moment to talk?”

 

“Sure thing,” the woman said, smiling warmly, “Take some time to talk, your boy’s first car is a big moment!” Isaac snorted at that which she either didn’t notice or choose to ignore as she retreated into her house.

 

“Why do you need a car?” Chris asked. He mistakenly viewed this trip as a curiosity venture, initially assuming that cars were an interest of Isaac’s and that he wasn’t looking to buy, but to look. No one would drive 70 miles to look at _this_ car.

 

“I’m sixteen, everyone buys a car when they’re sixteen.”

 

Where was Isaac from that he believed that? “You shouldn’t waste your money on this…this machine.”

 

“Machine.”

 

“This isn’t a good car, Isaac. You shouldn’t blow your entire savings.”

 

“This isn’t my entire savings. I’ve been working summers since I was twelve.” Isaac said, defensive, “I was always going to buy a car like this. And I don’t need your permission.”

 

 _You’re not my dad_ was all but said out loud.

 

The seller came back out and without missing a beat Chris started negotiating price. If he couldn’t—shouldn’t—stop Isaac then the least he could do was get him a good deal. He brought the price down to $400 and Isaac paid with folded twenties.

 

Despite his reservations, there wasn’t a good option except to let Isaac drive the truck back to Briarwood. “Do you have your license?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Isaac said, defensiveness gone. “Thank you, for this.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“You didn’t have to.”

 

The only response Chris had to that were either overly sentimental or insufficient, so he nodded and headed for his car.

 

* * *

 

 

In January Chris went on a six day trip. Bennett proved himself fully capable of handling most accounts. He loved traveling and occasionally sent Chris long emails describing the amazing sites of Louisville, Kentucky and Gary, Indiana. There were a few accounts at first that protested losing Chris’s expert handling. Some of those implied a “kid like that” couldn’t handle the work and they wanted someone more like them dealing their firearms. Chris had no qualms about cutting ties with racists.

 

Some accounts he kept his own for sentimental reasons. He couldn’t fully release the agencies and offices that took a chance with him when he first struck out on his own. After three months without a single work trip he took a quick tour around the country to his oldest clients to make sure they were still satisfied with their service.

 

Allison practically shoved him out the door. “Go visit your gun friends! Visit your knife friends if you need to! I’ll be fine on my own.”

 

His plane landed at 11:30 AM on a Thursday. While he stood at the gate waiting for his phone to turn back on he wondered whether the kids had left the kitchen a mess like they did last time.

 

Chris banned Isaac from spending the night while he was on work trips of cursory obligation, but he expected that Isaac had stayed over every night for the past week. He had during Chris’s last two trips. The kids thought he didn’t know. There was nothing that could happen while Chris was gone that he didn’t already know was happening.

 

When his phone screen turned on it flashed “6 Missed Calls” and Chris’s pulse spiked. He was in the plane for two hours—what could have possibly happened in that time?

 

With still hands he confirmed that the first three calls were from Allison, followed by two from the school and one more from her. He tried to reach his voicemail but found that the signal wasn’t strong enough. Gripping his bag tight in his hand Chris quickly walked through the terminal.

 

Finally he found a signal. He cleared his throat so his voice would be even and called her. She didn’t answer at first, but then a call came in from her while he was dialing the schools number.

 

“Sorry, I was in class,” she said, her voice hushed. Chris breathed a sigh of relief. If she was still in school then a great number of worst case scenarios weren’t happening. “Did you get my messages?”

 

“I just got off the plane. Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine, but you need to come to the school and get Isaac. Something happened and he’s freaked out and they’re going to let him go home but an adult needs to come. I told them that Derek’s out of town and he’s staying with us. Can you come get him?”

 

Chris rubbed his forehead. “You need to tell me more than that Allison.”

 

“Derek never answers his phone and he needs to go home,” she insisted.

 

“What happened?”

 

“I, _shit_ —” she hissed and said to someone else “I’m so sorry, it’s a family emergency! No, sorry. Yes, I’m going back to class just one minute.” To him she said, “I have to go, but you’re coming right?”

 

Of course he was. Her voicemails provided no new information, and the voicemails from the school was just a recording simply requesting he come pick up his child.

 

After paying the ridiculous fee for parking his car—he didn’t want tell a cab driver where he lived—Chris drove to the high school. Isaac being “freaked out” was not nearly enough to go on, but it was enough for Chris to know he needed to go to the school.

 

If Chris believed he was being summoned to the school for a fight he would have gone straight home, but he didn’t believe that was the case. Allison said the school was _letting_ him go home because he was “freaked out.” In his limited experience with the public school system, students were not typically released for simple hurt feelings.

 

At the school they were expecting him. No one asked who the hell he was and what he was doing coming for a kid who wasn’t his. Allison must have done a good job convincing them that he was a worthy temporary guardian. He recognized the vice principal from Allison’s outburst the year before, but she didn’t recognize him. He remembered the walkie talkie clipped to her fanny pack and the long braids. She introduced herself as Dr. Hillard and ushered him into her empty office. Chris stalled and looked back into the lobby. He expected to see Isaac at the very least.

 

Dr. Hillard guessed what he was thinking. She gestured to the chairs in front of her desk and sat in her swivel chair. “Isaac is upstairs in a social workers office. It’s more private. Please take a seat. Your daughter tells us Isaac is staying with you while his guardian is out of town?”

 

Chris stood. He knew that whatever happened transpired over two hours ago, but he didn’t think a trip to the social workers office was a typical occurrence. “That is correct,” Allison was sometimes needlessly detailed in her fabrications, and he was careful not to elaborate further. “Did you try to call Derek?”

 

The right thing to do, as a parent, would be to make sure that every attempt was made to contact the right person.

 

“We did,” Dr. Hillard said, pushing her glasses up, “The phone number we have is out of service. We’d appreciate if you would ask for a working phone number when you next see him.”

 

“Yes, of course. If you could tell me what happened,” he requested. “I understand if you can’t, but I’d like to know what I’m walking into here.”

 

Dr. Hillard nodded thoughtfully. She plucked a rubix stone off her desk and offered it to him. Chris shook his head minutely, a little confused as to why he was being treated like a hyperactive teenager. Dr. Hillard gently placed it back on her desk.

 

“Your daughter tells me that Isaac is staying with you for the next week. We’d like to speak to his guardian when he gets back.”

 

“Of course. Please.”

 

Dr. Hillard cleared her throat. “First, this is something we for real take very seriously. I’ve spoken with the other students involved and your daughter and we have taken appropriate action.”

 

“My daughter is involved?” he demanded. Allison didn’t say anything about being involved in her frantic voicemails, just that he needed to come get Isaac.

 

“Yeah but she’s fine. She is in class now,” Dr. Hillard assured him. “What I hear is your daughter and Isaac were asked by their art teacher to take materials from a storage closet in the classroom. A student in the class jammed the door to the closet shut while they were inside. I understand they were in the closet for less than 30 seconds before Mr. Levin-Strauss interceded.”

 

She paused. Was she waiting for Chris to jump to some conclusion based on that alone? “That’s not all,” he said, prompting her to continue.

 

“No,” she agreed. “Isaac—he panicked. Freaked out, is how everyone’s described it. He hit the other student once before Mr. Levin-Strauss could stop him. He’s been very distressed since. That why he’s in with our on call social worker.”

 

Chris took a deep breathed squeezed his thumb into his palm. “Was Allison harmed?” She wasn’t claustrophobic, his mind auto populated with memories of her reading chapter books in their pantry in Arizona, but in a panic anything could happen.

 

“No no,” Dr. Hillard said dismissively, “We had to really work to convince her to go back to class, but she was only worried about her boyfriend.”

 

Dr. Hillard didn’t know Allison well enough to know that she would be more concerned about anyone who was upset, even if she was bleeding out. He had to trust that if she was more affected than Dr. Hillard thought, Allison would have told him in one of the messages, or walked out of school in protest.

 

“What’s this kids name?” he asked.

 

“I can’t tell you that.”

 

“I’m Allison’s parent, and he bullied my daughter. I could press charges.”

 

Dr. Hillard looked a little ill. She should really be heartier. He remembered thinking that when Allison threw her planner book too. “That really isn’t necessary. We are taking proper measures with the other student.

 

“What measures?” As he said that he kept his voice even and his hands at his side. He was doing a good job of holding back his fury at a student who thought would be funny to lock his daughter in a supply closet. Children were monsters.

 

Dr. Hillard hesitated. “The other student will be serving in after school detention for the appropriate amount of time. He will be writing a letter of apology to both of them.

 

“That’s all?”

 

“The student thought that it would be a harmless prank. He had no idea the effect his actions would have. It was bullying, yes, and that is inexcusable. The consequences are in line with the intent of his actions.”

 

Was he allowed to say bullshit in front of a school administrator? “His actions resulted in a sixteen-year-old being under observation by one of your social workers for nearly three hours. When I pick Isaac up, will he be so unaffected that it will be comforting to hear that he’ll get an apology note _?_ ”

 

He had no idea what sate Isaac would be in. But based on the way Dr. Hillard was tiptoeing around him and the pitch of Allison’s voice in the messages he knew it would be extreme, or it had been at one point.

 

“As I understand it, Isaac has calmed down significantly,” Dr. Hillard hedged, “It—“ she was hesitating and Chris prepared himself for the nonsense that was sure to come, “It is our policy that students with previous physical altercations on their record are automatically suspended if they hit another student.”

 

“You’re suspending Isaac,” Chris repeated, making it clear exactly how he felt about that.

 

“We—“ Dr. Hillard started, holding her finger up like she was about to tell him off.

 

“No,” Chris repeated. “He will not be suspended for three reasons. This was self-defense, his guardian hasn’t been notified, you acknowledged that the action resulted from bullying. We could sue you if you suspend him.”

 

That last part was all Victoria, all of it was really. She suffered no fools. If she were here, she would have the entire administrative office shaking in their boots.

 

“I’d like to take Isaac home now. He’ll be back in the morning.”

 

The social worker's office was small. Isaac was slouched in a chair with his legs stretched out nearly entirely across the office floor. He was staring vacantly out the window and gnawing on his thumbnail. Two fingers on the same hand were bitten bloody, and he had a melted ice pack in his lap. A male social worker at the computer turned around when Chris walked in, but Isaac didn’t move.

 

The social worker said, “Someone’s here for you.” Isaac snapped to awareness, his face momentarily alarmed when he noticed Chris and Dr. Hillard in the room before tracking back to Chris and released the tension in his shoulders just a hair.

 

“I’m picking you up,” Chris said quietly.

 

Isaac stopped biting his nail and Chris was relieved that it didn’t come away bloody. “Yeah, yeah okay.”

 

* * *

 

Isaac never went in the elevator with them when they went home, he opted to thunder up the stairs three steps at a time to the apartment on the seventh floor. A few months ago they were stopped in gridlock on I-80 coming back from the Military History Museum. Chris didn’t notice anything was happening until Isaac got out of the car in the middle of the highway.

 

Chris didn’t like the picture it was painting.

 

* * *

 

 

In the car put his keys in the ignition but didn’t start the car.

 

“They said Derek’s number is disconnected.”

 

Isaac stopped chewing his thumbnail long enough to say, unexpectedly casual, “Yeah. I think he ran out of minutes. I haven’t called him for a couple days, but it wasn’t working then.”

 

“Do you know of any other way to get ahold him?” Isaac shook his head. “Then we’ll go to your apartment and check. If he’s not home you’ll come to ours.”

 

“You don’t have to do this. I only put down you down as my emergency contact because they wouldn’t let me turn in the form without one.” No one had mentioned that he was the emergency contact. “It’s nice that you picked me up, but you can just drop me off somewhere.”

 

“Where would I drop you off?” Chris asked, automatically driving back to the route they took from the apartment to the warehouse.

 

“I don’t know,” Isaac said. His energy had skyrocketed since they got in the car, he kept leaning forward in his seat and tugging on the seatbelt. “There,” he declared, pointing at a seemingly random intersection with a gas station and an Arby’s.

 

“I like my plan better,” Chris said evenly. “Do you not want me to see your apartment?”

 

“No not that,” Isaac said hurriedly, “I’m just saying.”

 

There was a billboard on the lawn in front of the warehouse that advertised it as “affordably unique” housing. It had pictures of modern kitchens and a living room with curtains that Chris was sure he would not find to be true in Derek’s apartment. Once inside, a cheap coat of paint couldn’t hide the smell of wet metal that permeated the halls. Isaac said the elevator was broken, so they climbed four sets of stairs illuminated by no more than one light bulb per floor.

 

By the time they reached the locked door that led to his apartment, Isaac had tried three more times to suggest Chris drop him off. If it wasn’t for frantic energy or the way Isaac continued to bite at his now bloody thumb, Chris would have done so. He was sixteen after all, and not his responsibility. If he was at all confident that anyone else was looking out for Isaac he would have left him to his own devices.

 

Outside Derek’s apartment, Isaac stood for nearly a full minute with a key in his hand, staring at the door. “Derek’s not going to be here,” he said. “It’s not like he’s going to do anything helpful if he is.”

 

“I’d like to see for myself.”

 

The apartment—or loft may be a more apt description—was strikingly bare. There was a couch but no blankets, a television but not books. There was no dining room table. Isaac didn’t take his shoes off and drop his backpack by the door they were he did at Chris’s apartment, but instead made a beeline to a closed door and stuck his head in, then checked another room before Chris could take more than three steps inside.

 

It only took three steps to notice the duffle bag next to the couch and the flannel blanket folded on top of it.

 

“He’s not here,” Isaac said, practically bouncing up and down. “I’m fine though, you can leave.”

 

“When is the last time you saw Derek?”

 

“I’m fine. Seriously. I don’t know what they told you, but you don’t have to be here.”

 

“When?” Chris repeated.

 

Isaac looked around the apartment like he was hoping Derek would materialize. He hesitated, looking at the open bedroom door behind him one more time before sighing.

 

“Maybe three weeks ago?”

 

There was a part of Chris that told himself that Derek was secretly a perfectly competent guardian. He noted evidence like Isaac having an adequate winter coat and getting haircuts. The fact that he never said a word about Derek and seemed entirely unsupervised was not inherently positive or negative. And besides, traditionally, the daughter’s boyfriend was not a fathers responsibility beyond ensuring he was treating his daughter well.

 

There was another, more difficult to respond to and impossible to ignore, part of him that screamed that he was wrong and this was his fault.

 

Only because he knows that Isaac would pick up on it, when they got back in the car with Isaac’s duffle bag and blanket in the back he said, “I’m angry at Derek, not you.”

 

“Why?”

 

Why? God knows if Derek had even left money for food, or if Isaac was subsisting only on the leftovers he took home nearly nightly. What kind of guardian left without warning or a working phone number, regardless of his charge’s age?

 

“You are his responsibility, you shouldn’t be left alone for that long without warning.”

 

Isaac didn’t disagree, just went back to chewing on his other thumbnail. The first order of business when they got home was getting him to stop. Chris was relieved that Isaac didn’t say what he was thinking, which was that Chris had just left Allison alone for eight days.

 

Drawing on Victoria’s unfailing devotion to logic, he mentally separated himself from what Derek had from his own parenting. According to Isaac, Derek and his car left without warning somewhere around three weeks ago. His phone was dead or out of minutes. Chris told Allison was going—asked for her permission to go. His phone was always on, and he would rush home if Allison asked.

 

He wasn’t the same.

 

In the apartment, the first thing he did was carry his suitcase to the washing machine. Behind him Isaac toed off his shoes and dropped his backpack and duffle bag by the door. Chris swiftly started his routine. He dumped his clothes into the washing machine to buy time to think about how to handle this.

 

Isaac needed to stop biting his nails.

 

Wish the watching machine started, Chris came out and found Isaac leaning against the fridge, watching him.

 

“I punched Aiden.”

 

 _Aiden._ “I know.”

 

“Okay, so…” Isaac gestured rigidly, “I’m not supposed to hit people. You’re an adult. You’re supposed to yell at me or something.”

 

Chris walked into the kitchen, stopping when Isaac tensed up minutely. He was behind the kitchen island, as unthreatening as he could be without leaving the room. He felt far too aware of what the “or something” Isaac was referring to was.

 

“Dr. Hillard explained what happened. While I don’t condone hitting another student, it sounds like under the circumstance you felt you were defending yourself.”

 

“I wasn’t really. He didn’t hit me.”

 

“Did you feel threatened?”

 

Isaac rubbed his face roughly. “Yeah,” he admitted, “but I shouldn’t have.” He started biting his nail again and Chris’s desire to stop that overrode the conversation.

 

“Allison will be home in an hour. Why don’t you get started on something? It would be nice to have a snack when she gets home.”

 

“What, like bake something?”

 

“Yes.” Anything to get his hands busy. If Isaac turned down baking Chris would suggest organizing their DVDs.

 

Isaac shrugged. “I guess. If we still have raspberries I could try the muffins we made last week?”

 

Chris nodded. “I’ll help you find the recipe.”

 

 

Allison came home spitting bullets. As Chris expected, she skipped tennis practice and came straight to his office with her shoes still on.

 

“We need to sue the school,” she said. “We need to sue the school because the closet in the art room is dangerous and full of inhalants. They condone bullying—did you know that Aiden was back at school an hour later? Thank you for picking up Isaac. I know you just got home. I know we’re not a litigious family but I think you should really consider it.”

 

Chris waited to be sure she was done, then gestured for her to sit down. He sat in the seat next to her in front of the desk. “Are you all right?”

 

Allison sagged, all the energy in her monologue pooling on the ground. “Yeah, I’m okay but I was really scared. I’ve never seen anyone as scared as Isaac was, it was like he thought he was going to die. Afterwards, he couldn’t even talk, he just stared at the wall. They wouldn’t let me stay with him so I didn’t know what happened.”

 

“He’s all right.”

 

“He told me he’s spending the night?”

 

“Yes. In the guest room.”

 

“You should have called me.”

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you at school.”

 

“I was already disturbed,” she said laughing. Chris scooted his chair so he could lean over and hug her. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging hard. Into his shoulder, she said, “Isaac made muffins.”

 

“Would you like to go eat them?” he asked, leaning back. “We can go out to dinner if you both want to.”

 

They got up to leave the office but Allison stopped at the door, “Did he tell you anything about why he reacted like that?”

 

“No,” he said. And he wouldn’t tell Allison if he had. His only goal was to pull Isaac out of the state he was in and the basic task of getting his hands busy. Today, he told himself, was not the time to ask questions beyond the here and now. He wasn’t avoiding hard conversations, he was being strategic.

 

It was a strategy he’d been employing for months, and he knew he’d have to revise it eventually.

 

 

That night they cleared the still unpacked boxes out of the guest room. When he was looking for an apartment back in April he debated between a three bedroom or four. Four bedrooms were hard to come by, but they always had a guest room. Despite the guest room nearly always being used by the family he no longer spoke to, it still felt important that there be one in his new home. Maybe he was weak and holding out hope, or maybe he saw this moment coming.

 

Isaac and Allison put sheets in the washing machine then stood in front of it while it ran, smiling at each other and talking about nothing. Chris put the boxes in the corner of the living room, reflecting that if he hadn’t unpacked them yet he would need to reevaluate the value of the contents.

 

“Hey.” He turned around and saw Isaac standing across the room. “Thank you for letting me stay here. And picking me up today. You didn’t have to.”

 

He could switch his strategy about this at least. “You needed someone to do those things,” he said, “I am glad I could be that person.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Chris put the last box down and walked into the hall. “Do you have everything you need for tonight?”

 

Isaac nodded and gestured back down the hall, “Allison is like, burning incense or something.”

 

“Sage.”

 

“I guess.”

 

It was the first night in months that Chris knew for certain that he wouldn’t to leave the house at 11 to drive Isaac across town. It felt good to know that he was home, and all the people he felt responsible for were home and safe. While he changed the sheets on his own bed Allison walked through his room with a burning bundle of sage. He had no idea where this new ritual of hers came from, but it seemed to bring her peace.

 

“I’m glad you’re home,” she said, waving the bundle in the air. “It feels good to have everyone here.”

 

“Yes,” he agreed, “It does.”


	6. Chapter 6

The night has passed without a hitch. Chris prepared himself for some form of disturbance, whether it be nightmares or the sounds of teenagers sneaking into each others bedrooms, or Isaac sneaking out the door. Instead the night passed, and Chris found that he had stayed out in the living room with a book and tumbler for no reason. He woke up to the sounds of the kids coming back from an early morning run. He got out of bed, dressing quickly.

They were in the kitchen arguing over which fruits to put in their smoothies. When they noticed Chris come in Allison used the moment of distraction to dump bananas in the blender. Isaac used it to move behind the island.

 

“Good morning, sir,” he said.

 

“Morning, both of you,” Chris said fighting back a yawn. It didn’t do for his child to wake up before him. “How far did you go?”

 

“Five miles,” Allison said, continuing to dump her chosen fruits in the blender followed by almond milk. “That 7-Eleven a mile down was robbed last night and there were cops everywhere, so we had to change paths.”

 

She talked like she and Isaac had been taking morning runs together all year, and Chris realized that it was possibly true. After all, Allison could have been running as far as the warehouse without going far.

 

“Will you be coming home after practice?” he asked, taking to direct the question to both of them.

 

“I am,” Allison said, looking at Isaac.

 

He shrugged, “Should I?” he asked Chris.

 

“You’re staying here tonight,” Chris said, “you may as well.”

 

Isaac looked surprised by nodded, “Okay, yeah then I will.”

 

 

____

 

 

Chris had been planning his approach all day. He planned which questions he would ask and in what order. It was time to directly find out who this kid was.

 

For his part, Isaac seemed to see it coming. While Allison headed for the shower, Isaac sat in his favored part of the couch which his shoes still on and his jacket in his lap. After some consideration Chris sat in the arm chair with the coffee table between them.

 

“Did lacrosse practice go well?” Chris hedged.

 

“It was fine,” Isaac said.

 

“Will you need a ride to your away game this weekend?” Chris asked.

 

Isaac rubbed his forehead. “No, we have a team bus. Were you guys…”

 

Chris waited to see if Isaac was going to finish, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to. “We’re coming to the game. We can drive you home after.” He had gone to most of Isaac’s local hockey games until he was suspended from the team, and to all of the lacrosse games. That Derek was never at any of the games should have been a sign that something was going wrong.

 

That seemed to overwhelm Isaac, and it was much to early in the conversation for him to be overwhelmed. “I have to ask you some questions now.”

 

“Okay,” Isaac said, “I haven’t gotten in any more fights,” he said in a rush, “And the school didn’t say anything to me about yesterday.”

 

They should have, an apology for mishandling the situation at the very least. Chris nodded, “You’re not in trouble. We need to talk about your living situation. You are welcome to stay here, but I want to understand what happened with Derek.”

 

“Nothing,” Isaac said quickly, too practiced. “He didn’t do anything, he barely talked to me.”

 

That at least Chris believed. “How did you come to live with him?”

 

“My dad died,” Isaac said, confused because he knew that Chris already knew that. He’d never said it to Chris, but Allison told him and must have told Isaac that she had. It was all he knew and he left it for far too long.

 

“When did that happen?” Chris asked.

 

“Last March,” Isaac said, still confused. “It was a hit and run,” he answered Chris’s next question.

 

He thought of Allison. It made terrible sense that they had lost as parent at the same time.

 

He had to push past those thoughts and stay in the moment. “Were you in the car?”

 

“No I was…” Isaac rubbed his forehead again, “I was like, next to the car. He was coming out to get me and a car hit him. Why are you asking me this?”

 

“I should have asked you a long time ago. You are part of our lives, and I should have known this about you” Chris answered honestly. If Victoria knew how long he put this off she would be fuming. In some ways he was in denial in how major a part of their lives Isaac had become, and learning more about this was breaking some kind of seal Chris imagined was in place. “Allison has told me you’re from Indiana?”

 

“Yeah,” Isaac agreed, still sounding unsure. “I’m from Hodge? It’s a stupid little town an hour and a half south of Indianapolis.”

 

“I’ve never heard of it,” Chris said to buy time.

 

“Yeah,” Isaac agreed.

 

“Do you have family in Indiana?”

 

Isaac shrugged. “I don’t know. My dad has a sister, but I only found out about her after he died. I don’t know if he was from there, or somewhere else but she lives in Peoria.”

 

“Your mother’s family?”

 

“I don’t know. If she had parents I never heard about them.”

 

“You’ve never met your grandparents?”

 

“Not everyone has grandparents,” Isaac said defensively. “I don’t know if they’re dead or they suck worse than my parents, but they never talked about them.”

 

There were all kinds of families, he knew. But with all the force and legend behind both his and Victoria’s families it was hard to imagine a child knowing nothing about their own.

 

But he had an aunt, and that was something.

 

“Have you met your aunt?”

 

Isaac cringed at the word. “Yeah, I lived with her right after my dad died. I guess my dad had a will that said I was supposed to. But I don’t live with her anymore.”

 

That much was obvious, but Chris felt no need to point that out. “How did that happen?”

 

Isaac started absentmindedly cracking his knuckles. “Um…I lived with—her name is Aileen—I lived with her for a few weeks. She had this little apartment with a bunch of birds that she doesn’t even keep in cages. She like, cried a lot and she said a lot of stuff about my dad that wasn’t true. I don’t think she wanted me there.”

 

“She had just lost her brother,” Chris pointed out.

 

“Yeah, but she really didn’t like him,” Isaac said, sounding angry at the idea. “She said that it was good that he died. I don’t know, it just pissed me off. So I left.”

 

Chris remembered the first time Victoria met his father. On the drive home she said, “Your father shouldn’t speak to you that way.” Plain as day, like he couldn’t argue that it wasn’t true. He bristled. What right did she have to judge his family? He was sure that she had no idea what she was talking about. If she understood the way it worked, that his father was trying to make them all the best, she would never have said that.

 

And that was after he thought he was out of his father’s clutches.

 

Chris cleared his throat. He didn’t think Isaac would react well to him questioning why he felt protective of his father.

 

“And your aunt let you leave?”

 

“She couldn’t stop me,” Isaac said proudly. “I wasn’t going to stay there. It sucked. She lived in this tiny apartment in a dirty neighborhood and I was sleeping on the couch. It sucked and we didn’t get along. There was no reason for me to be living with her.”

 

So he ran to Derek’s where the circumstances to were the same. “You went to Derek?”

 

“Yeah.

 

“And he’s your brother’s friend?”

 

“Yeah,” Isaac stopped cracking his knuckle and switched to playing with the cuffs of the jacket on his lap. “He um, we were Facebook friends and we messaged sometimes. I told him what was going on and he told me I could stay with him.”

 

“He invited a teenage boy to live with him,” Chris said.

 

“It wasn’t weird or anything,” Isaac said, “Derek was on my dad’s—my dad was the swim team coach and Derek was really good. He messaged me on Facebook and we just talked every once in a while, after Camden died.”

 

“Who is Camden?”

 

“My brother,” Isaac said plainly. He smirked at the astonishment that Chris couldn’t keep off his face. “Yeah, they’re all dead. Camden died in Afghanistan.”

 

Chris schooled his face back to neutral concern. “I’m sorry,” her said sincerely. Isaac shrugged. “No one should lose that much family at your age.”

 

Isaac scoffed. “I have Aunt Aileen,” he said sarcastically.

 

Chris took a deep breath. “Derek,” he said, forcing the conversation back on track, “invited you to live with him.”

 

“Right. So I did. That’s how I ended up here. It’s going fine,” Isaac said firmly, “I know Derek isn’t around right now but he’s really easy to live with. He just does his thing and doesn’t care what I do. I know he’s been gone for a little while, but I don’t care.”

 

“Is there food in his apartment?”

 

Isaac nodded, seeming to think this was his chance to defend Derek. “He gives me money for food—he left money before he left. And there’s always leftovers you guys give me.”

 

“Did he leave enough money?”

 

“I mean…I mean I’ve just been…here lately.”

 

That was a no.

 

“Do you know where Derek is?” Isaac shrugged. “Do you know when he might be back?” He shook his head to that. “Then you’ll stay with us until he gets back.

 

“Oh no,” Isaac said faintly, “That’s not necessary.”

 

“You’re sixteen, you shouldn’t be on your own for weeks,” Chris said.

 

“I’m almost seventeen,” Isaac countered. “I know I was like…upset yesterday so thanks for letting me stay here. But I can go back tonight.”

 

“We like having you here,” Chris admitted, hoping it would be enough, “You don’t have to be alone.”

 

* * *

  

The week went by quickly.

 

Chris had an account in the city that kept him busy, and he came home just after the kids got home from tennis and lacrosse practice. Every day he came home to Allison doing homework at the table and Isaac trying his hand at a new recipe in the kitchen. He was proving himself to be a promising baker, the banana nut muffins he made were better than Allison’s by far. But it did call into question whether he was doing homework.

 

Was he having problems in school? Did he have a learning disability? Was he getting enough support? Did he need a tutor?

 

Isaac looked at Chris blankly when he asked him if he had more work to do.

 

“I’m done,” he said.

 

“Allison is still working, how are you done?”

 

“I don’t know. Allison’s in honors classes. They have me in sophomore classes,” he said, “so I’m not exactly struggling.”

 

As far as Chris could tell Isaac was very smart. He was able to do conversions quickly when baking, and Chris had caught him with books from his collection on the French Revolution more than once. Those books weren’t quite easy reading.

 

“Why would they have you in sophomore classes?” he asked.

 

Isaac shrugged and casually explained that he hadn’t gone to school for three months after his father’s death. When Chris asked what he was doing during that time he said, “I don’t know,” which seemed to be his default answer when he thought the truth wouldn’t be well received.

 

It did not help his impression of Derek.

 

A little over a week after he was called to the school Isaac knocked on his office door and came in without waiting to be invited. Chris quickly closed his internet browser, even though from where he was standing Isaac couldn’t see that he was looking up specs on a smoke grenade. He knew that Allison had told Isaac what he did for a living, but it was always best to keep details to himself.

 

Isaac stepped toward one of the seats in front of the desk then stopped, remaining standing. “I’m going to go back to Derek’s.”

 

“Are you?”

 

“He texted me. He’s been back for a few days. So I can go back.”

 

Chris sighed and made a show at looking at the time. “It’s late. You might as well stay here tonight. Tell Derek I’m going to call him.”

 

Isaac waved him off. “I have my car here, I can go, it’s fine. He might not have enough minutes for a phone call.”

 

Yes, his monstrosity of a car parked downstairs with the Audis and Volkswagens. “Even so, this is something we can deal with the morning and I would rather talk to Derek before you go anywhere.”

 

It didn’t take much convincing, and the moment Isaac closed his office door he was calling Derek. He’d called multiple times over the past week and heard the same _“Derek Hale, call me back”_ voicemail message too many times.

 

This time he answered. “This is Derek Hale.”

 

Chris reminded himself that Derek was in his mid-twenties. He sounded older. It was important, in situations like this, to establish authority. “Derek, this is Mr. Argent. I’d like to speak with you tomorrow.”

 

“Ten o’clock,” Derek said.

 

“I know where you live,” Chris said and hung up.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek was six feet tall. He had dark hair and stubble and was wearing a dark cotton shirt and pants with mud splattered on the hem. He wore his shoes in his home and kept all the blinds open, showing the snow that was falling heavily outside. Chris noted that there was a suitcase next to the couch, and a pair of combat boots knocked over beside them.

 

Chris tracked all this before walking in. The loft felt heavier with both of them in it. Derek didn’t invite him in further, he just stepped back and allowed Chris to walk past the threshold of the door.

 

“Derek,” he said.

 

“Mr. Argent,” Derek said. At least he had some sense of respect.

 

Chris didn’t try to muscle his way in. They could do this here. “You’re back in town.”

 

“Yeah,” Derek said. They watched each other for a moment, waiting one another out. Chris could wait for years. Derek broke first. “You wanted to talk to me?”

 

Chris nodded. “I understand you’ve been out of town for the past month.”

 

Derek picked up a dirty glass that was sitting on the countertop that separated the kitchen from the living space. Chris took that as invitation to move further in the space.

 

“It hasn’t been…” Derek started but trailed off. Chris could see him counting the days in his head. “I’m back now. You can tell Isaac he can some back.”

 

“To be honest with you Derek, I don’t feel very rushed to do that,” Chris said, keeping his voice even. “You left the minor that you are responsible alone without notice or a way of contacting you. It doesn’t inspire my confidence in your ability as a guardian.”

 

Derek scowled at him, making no secret that Chris had touched a nerve. “He’s not a little kid. Did you find him dying on the floor? No. He’s fine.”

 

“Fine because he spent every evening at our home.”

 

Chris didn’t intend to be as direct as he was, but seeing Derek speak so casually about the matter had raised his hackles. He knew perfectly well that because of Isaac’s age that legally this might not be considered neglect, but it was wholly unacceptable regardless. When Allison was born he made himself an expert on legally what was required of parents and found it to be unacceptably minimal. Just enough was not good enough, and Isaac was a good kid. He deserved to live with someone who had the ability to parent appropriately for at least part of his life.

 

Derek didn’t even appear able to care for himself appropriately. The apartment was far colder than living temperatures, and the longer Chris watched the more obvious it was that Derek was wearing wrinkled clothes, hadn’t shaved in days. All Chris wanted to do was look in the fridge to make sure there was food.

 

“Kids Isaac’s age get left home alone all the time,” Derek said, “I bet you leave your daughter alone.” Chris left his face blank. Derek scowled, “I didn’t ask to be your little father of the year. I’m just looking after my friends’ brother until he turns eighteen.”

 

Chris wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or concerned that Derek planned on continuing this role in Isaac’s life for another year. “You have no idea what he’s been through,” Derek continued. “I’m from the same place. I know his family. I understand him. You think you could do a better job?”

 

 _Yes._ “Did I say that?” Chris said, “What kept you away for a month, if you are so devoted to your guardianship?”

 

Derek moved quickly, taking the glass with him and walking into the kitchen. Chris followed him, hoping it would give him a chance to see inside his refrigerator. There were no appliances on the counter, and the sink was empty. Half of the cabinets didn’t have doors, and the shelves inside were empty.  

 

“I was checking on my younger sister,” he said abruptly, over the sounds of him rinsing the glass. “There were some things I needed to take care of.”

 

Chris waited for more information. Isaac mentioned that Derek had an older sister who was on the swim team as well, but never mentioned a younger sister. Derek turned around.

 

“She lives with our uncle in New York. If you want to go accuse someone of being a bad guardian I’ll give you his address.”

 

Chris felt dread grow in his chest. “Is she alright?”

 

Derek seemed to sense that Chris was taking him seriously and shook his head. “He’s actually fine at taking care of her, he’s just a bad person. I helped her move in with her girlfriend and get emancipated. He’s in Puerto Rico now.”

 

Chris was momentarily side tracked picturing all this happening. “That is admirable,” he finally said, “You were looking out for your sister. However, you had someone who you are legally responsible back here who didn’t know where you were.

 

Derek shook his head, “Isaac doesn’t need to know everything about my family. And he was fine.”

 

“You were unreachable by phone.”

 

“I ran out of minutes.”

 

“Do you not have enough money to keep minutes on your phone?”

 

Derek scowled at him. “You’ve never heard of the Hales?”

 

He noted that he would have to research the Hales when he got home. Victoria would have done so months ago. “That’s not an answer,” he said.

 

Derek exhaled. “Look, the way Isaac grew up I thought he would be relieved not to have me around. If you asked him he’d tell you that he doesn’t trust me at all. ”

 

What would Isaac trusting someone look like? Chris wondered. Was it staying in an apartment alone with them, or calling for help buying a car? Did Isaac trust him? The only times Isaac talked about Derek it was disparagingly, painting him as unhelpful but Chris didn’t get the sense that Isaac was in any way afraid of him.

 

“You have been in this role for nine months. If you feel that way,” Chris asked, “how do you imagine the rest of the year will go?”

 

Derek had been powered by defensive energy, but at that question all the hot air seemed to come out of out him. He sagged against he counter.

 

“His brother was my best friend. Neither of us should have left him behind. When he messaged me last year I knew that this was the right thing to do. He said he couldn’t live with his aunt, and I had the room,” Derek said, gesturing minutely towards the threadbare couch in the living space.

 

Chris looked toward the couch, feeling dread. Could it be that the right thing to do was to send Isaac back here? With a guardian who felt responsible towards him, but felt unable to care for him?

 

At once Chris realized why he was at the loft talking to Derek. It wasn’t to chew him out for disappearing for a month, or even taking steps to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.

 

He was here for Derek’s permission to bring Isaac to live with them.

 

This scenario was not in the parenting books.

 

With his goals clarified, Chris a seat at the plyboard kitchen table. Derek eyed him warily and followed suit. He still had the wet, still dirty glass in his hand.

 

“I think it is clear that you care about your family, and you care about Isaac,” Chris said plainly. “What you are doing is admirable.”

 

Derek rubbed over his beard. “I’m trying.”

 

“Isaac is in high school. He’s on the lacrosse team. He’s taking sophomore classes, so he will be in high school for two and a half more years.”

 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Derek asked.

 

“What I mean is,” Chris continued, “Isaac needs support in all these areas of his life, and he will at least until he graduates from high school. I don’t know if he trusts me, but I do know that Isaac is receptive when I help him with these things, and he is comfortable in our home. Did Isaac tell you much about who I am?”

 

“He hasn’t told me anything,” Derek admitted, “I figured out that you’re his girlfriends father. I’ve seen the two of you at the hockey games.”

 

He was at the games, Chris realized. But he never made himself known to Isaac.

 

“My name is Chris Argent,” he said, realizing he had never said this. “I have been a father for eighteen years. I do contract work for the government, and do consulting work. I am financially stable. My daughter Allison is dating Isaac, and I met him last summer. I understand that you care about his wellbeing, and I care about him as well.”

 

“So?” Derek asked.

 

“With my daughters permission, and yours,” he said, “I would like to offer Isaac the option of living with us.”

 

Derek inhaled sharply. “You think he’s better off with you?”

 

Yes. Yes obviously he was.

 

“I think,” Chris said deliberately, “That you care about Isaac’s wellbeing, and can see the benefit of him being looked after by an older adult who has experience parenting.”

 

“You don’t have experience with Isaac,” Derek said decidedly, “You’re not from where we’re from.”

 

“No,” Chris agreed, “But that’s something we can work with.”

 

 

By the time Chris left, he had checked inside Derek’s refrigerator and determined that he had no food. He mentally added making a grocery delivery order to be sent to the loft to his to do list. In the course of the visit they addressed many of Chris’ and Derek’s concerns. Namely Chris thought they both believed that neither meant to harm Isaac. Derek was still unconvinced that moving in with Chris was the right thing.

 

“We’ll ask him,” he eventually said, “It’s up to him.”

 

Chris added finding the least threatening possible way to do that to his to do list as well.

 

And asking Allison’s permission.

 

 

When Chris got home from consulting Allison was the only one home. She was working on making dried spaghetti for dinner, and when she saw him come in she made a show of adding more dried pasta to the half boiled noodles.

 

“Allison,” he said, “That actually will not come out well.”

 

“That’s fine,” she said, “I had no faith in myself on this.”

 

Chris turned off the burner and started taking out the ingredients for waffles. Allison let out a little hum in happiness. She got on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

 

“You’re the best dad at the dad factory,” she said, calling back on something she used to say growing up.

 

“You’re the best daughter at the daughter factory,” he said back.

 

Allison went to the living room and came back with her pile of books and settled in at one of the stools on their island. “I have so much homework tonight, I don’t even know how I’m going to do it.”

 

“Is there anything you’d like me to help you with?” Chris asked.

 

“You can do my French homework for me.”

 

“I can quiz you,” Chris corrected. “Don’t stay up too late working. No grades are worth your health.”

 

Allison nodded while she flipped through her planner book, and Chris wasn’t sure whether he heard her or not. Every since she was held back Allison threw all that she had at school, at times becoming obsessive about getting good grades. Chris didn’t think that her behavior was even targeted towards getting into a good school. She was proving herself.

 

“Will you be able to take a break for dinner?” he asked as he got to work on the waffle batter.

 

“Yep,” she piped up. “Isaac won’t be here for dinner. He’s at his friend’s house. I think he’s coming here after.”

 

Well that was convenient.

 

“Which friend?” Chris asked.

 

“Erica Reyes,” she stopped, looking at Chris waiting. A few seconds were all it took to remember that Erica Reyes was the name of the girl who Allison threw her planner book at last spring. When she saw the realization cross his face, Allison rolled her eyes. “Three thousand kids at Briarwood and his best friend is the only girl in the school who doesn’t like me. He’s a real treat.”

 

Chris nodded, but inside he was realizing a hitch in his plan. What would happen if Allison and Isaac broke up? He would never turn Isaac out, but what if keeping him in the house caused Allison distress? Would they be able to handle it?

 

Was that a bridge to cross when it actually happened?

 

“What’s happening? What are you thinking about?” Allison asked. Chris shook his head. Was he that obvious, or was it only because Allison was his daughter?

“Are you mad at me again about Erica? Because you always say holding a grudge is unhealthy, so you shouldn’t be,” Allison said.

 

Chris shook his head. He turned away from the waffle batter so he was facing her. “I have something to speak with you about.”

 

“Oh,” Allison said, putting down her pen.

 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Chris said.

 

“Okay,” Allison said, clearly not believing it.

 

“How would you feel if I invited Isaac to live with us?”

 

Allison’s postured perked up and she picked her pen up again, “Oh for god’s sake. I was going to ask you that.”

 

Chris blinked. “Were you really?”

 

Allison rolled her eyes and got up off the stool. “Yeah of course really. I can’t believe you just asked me that. I was supposed to hang out with Lydia tonight but I came home so that we could have this conversation.” She said waving her hands. “For one thing, he totally fits here right? It’s almost easier when he’s here. For another he needs a place to live that doesn’t suck. So he should live here. And for another, he’s my boyfriend, I kind of like having him around.”

 

So they would cross this bridge now. Chris put down the waffle batter and walked towards her. “If we did this, it would not just be while he’s your boyfriend. I can’t invite him to live with us if it’s conditional on your relationship.”

 

Allison stopped at that. She hadn’t thought of that yet. “Allison, you need to consider that.”

 

“I am hold on,” she said, “I’m…imagining how I would feel if Isaac cheated on me with my best friend and robbed a liquor store.”

 

Chris was reminded of a year ago. When he or Victoria suggested that Allison may not spend the rest of her life with Jake, she nearly fell apart crying that they didn’t understand their love and that she and Jake would never break up.

 

He didn’t know if it said more about Allison’s maturity or her view of her relationship that the idea of breaking up was met with tacit consideration.

 

She took a minute, long enough that Chris went back to working on the waffle batter. If she said no, then it would be no and Isaac would live with Derek. He would survive, plenty of people had lived through worse and come out the other end.

 

“Okay,” Allison said, “I decided. Even if we broke up in a hideous passion, I would want Isaac to have somewhere to live.”

 

“You would?”

 

“Yes. He fits here.”

 

Which means there’s only on person left to ask.


	7. Chapter 7

“You won’t offend either of us,” Derek said.

 

Chris glanced over at Derek. It was a moment of maturity he could appreciate. They were in Chris’s apartment, sitting in the living room around the coffee table where Chris had laid out defrosted raspberry cookies, and the coconut cookies Isaac and Allison had made the night before. Victoria always said everything went more easily over food.

 

“You want me to live here?” Isaac asked. He had a cookie on a napkin on his knee but was sitting completely still, eyes bouncing between the two of them.

 

Chris shook his head, “We are giving you the option. You can live here, or you can continue to live with Derek. It’s up to you.”

 

Isaac’s knee started bouncing, and the cookie fell off. He drove to pick it up off the floor and looked between them again before putting it on the table. “That doesn’t make sense.”

 

Chris looked to Derek, who shook his head. He took over. “You need to live somewhere. Allison and I enjoy having you here, and we have a room for you. You are welcome to live with us while you finish high school. However, if you want to continue to live with Derek, he is open to you living there as well.”

 

“I don’t get it,” Isaac repeated. “Neither of you want me to live with you?” he asked, sounding angry.

 

“No,” Derek said sharply. “That’s not what’s happening.” Isaac nodded, but his leg continued to bounce. “You can live with either of us. You get to decide.”

 

“No,” Isaac said, “That—I can live here?”  


“You can,” Chris said, “The past week has gone very well, as have the last nine months. We all get along well, and I am willing to support you while you finish high school.”

 

Isaac snorted. “Okay, so what, until Allison and I break up, or you figure out that I’m annoying?”

 

Chris should have seen this coming, but he didn’t. “No,” he said, “If I found you annoying, that would have happened already. Even if you and Allison break up, you have a place here.”

 

“But not at Derek’s,” Isaac said. Chris wasn’t sure if he truly didn’t understand what was happening, or if he was being willfully obstinate. “I didn’t think it would cause problems if I told him you were gone,” he said to Derek, angry, “You don’t have to kick me out because of it.”

 

Derek shook his head but didn’t say anything. He seemed to be a little taken aback from the turn this had taken, though looking back Chris wasn’t sure why either of them expected this would be easy.

 

“You have two people who want you to live with them, and will not be offended by whichever you choose,” Chris said. “This isn’t happening because of anything you did. It’s a good thing.”

 

Isaac shook his head. By the agitation in his body it looked like he thought this was anything but a good thing. “That’s what people say, but that just means someone will get upset no matter what I decide.”

 

“I won’t be upset,” Derek said, face stoic. “I understand if you want to live here. You would have your own room, you’re closer to your school. Chris is an older adult, he can look out for you in a way I can’t,” he said, using the words Chris had used just the day before.

 

“And I also won’t be upset,” Chris said, “You grew up with Derek, and you are already used to living with him. You have already been through a lot of change this year, and you might not want to move again.”

 

Isaac shook his head, and to Chris’s horror started biting his nail. The last thing Chris wanted from this was Isaac biting his fingers bloody, and he had to hold himself back from reaching out and removing Isaac’s hand from his mouth.

 

“If you like,” he said, “you can think about this and let one of us know.”

 

“I’ll do that,” Isaac said quickly. “Sorry. Yeah, I’ll do that.” He got up abruptly. “Do you mind if I go for a run? My stuff is here.”

 

Chris shook his head, “It’s too late to go outside. It’s dark and snowing out. If you want, you can go down to the gym and run on the treadmills.”

 

“Is that okay?”

 

“Yes, that’s fine, just don’t leave the building without letting one of us know.”

 

Isaac nodded and disappeared to the back room, probably to change into running clothes. Derek looked at Chris. “That was impressive.”

 

“What’s was?” Chris asked, checking for signs that Derek was mocking him.

 

“You’re already parenting him and he doesn’t even live here,” he said.

 

Chris reflected on the past moment and realized he may have stepped on Derek’s toes. “It is my house,” he said as an excuse.

 

“You’re good,” Derek said, “You’d be good at this.”

 

-

 

Isaac didn’t stay over that night, and he didn’t come to the apartment for three days. Allison was scarce as well. Chris regretted everything.

 

“You totally freaked him out,” she said when she came home late from Lydia’s on the second night. He was in the living room attempting to read Les Miserables in French. “Like, legitimately it’s like the summer all over again.”

 

“That was not my intention,” Chris said, holding his place in the book with a glass of whiskey.

 

“I get that, and he gets that,” she said, “but still, I’m just waiting for this to blow over so we can get back to normal.”

 

“Does it seem like he’s going to stay at Derek’s?”

 

“I don’t know, but I think it’s better if we just leave it alone for now.”

 

Chris didn’t like it but he agreed.

 

On the third night his phone rang at midnight, as he was getting ready for bed, and he was surprised to see the caller was Isaac.

 

“Hello?” he said.

 

“You didn’t even like me when you met,” Isaac said, without saying hello.

 

“I didn’t know you,” Chris corrected. He had been mentally preparing for this conversation all week. He was hoping for it. “If you can understand, I feel protective of Allison with people I don’t know. But now I would say I know you quite well, and I would like to be a person who helps you feel safe, and provides a safe place to live.”

 

“So you like me now?”

 

“I like you very much.”

 

“What if I piss you off?”

 

“You haven’t pissed me off,” Chris said. He sat down in his bed, readying himself.

 

“But what if I do?”

 

Chris knew what he was asking.

 

He had enough insight to understand why he liked Isaac as much as he did. Isaac’s behavior, his alternating aggression and uncertaintly, his defensiveness and even the way he stood reminded Chris of himself as a teenager. It was part of why Chris wasn’t thrilled with the fact that he and Allison were dating. Nearly everything Isaac said or did, Chris could understand because it brought up memories of himself. When he extended the offer for Isaac to live with them, he realized that he was inviting in thousands of memories he tried to ignore that would be stirred up by Isaac’s presence.

 

He was not sure if he was ready for that, but he was sure that Isaac needed a suitable place to live, and the adult Chris had become was more than suited to provide that.

 

“I have the ability to manage my emotions, if you do something that upsets me it would not rise to the level of being ‘pissed off. Have you ever seen me get angry at you or Allison? You can ask her. I may become upset, but it is never out of my control.”

 

“That’s impossible,” Isaac said, sounding sure.

 

“It may not be something you’ve experienced before,” Chris acknowledged, “but it is possible for an adult to be in control of their behavior.”

 

There was silence on the line. Chris waited. The last thing he wanted to do was end this conversation prematurely by saying something that caused alarm. But he knew why Isaac was calling, and didn’t know it whether it was better to cut to the chase.

 

“I would never hit you,” Chris said, taking a risk, “I promise you that.”

 

“How do you know that?” Isaac asked.

 

It was unbelievably brave of him to be asking this question, but Chris wished he wouldn’t. It was a question that rung in his head before Allison was even born. He was a violent teenager, picking fights as often as he could while still fighting to be the son he thought his father wanted. He was sure that he would be that statistic that continued the cycle of violence and beat his own child.

 

Victoria never had any concern. She shushed him and asked him to look at paint colors for the nursery when she was pregnant and he was convinced that the best thing for their family was for him to disappear. He read countless parenting books, ultimately discarded all but a treasured few and mercilessly fought his fathers voice out of his head every single day.

 

“Experience,” he told Isaac, “I have been Allison’s father for eighteen years and I’ve never hurt her. You can ask her.”

 

“I did,” Isaac admitted, and Chris was sure that he had asked her before this week. “But I’m different. I’m not your son, and I’m a guy, and I’m just bad and—“

 

“You’re not bad. There’s nothing wrong with you that would make me hurt you.” Chris said.

 

The silence on the other end stretched longer this time.

 

“Do you remember last summer,” Chris started, “When you told me that you would protect Allison if I hurt her? Do you remember what I said?”

 

“No,” Isaac said. Chris knew he was lying.

 

“I said that you had my express permission to do whatever it takes to keep her safe. The same goes for you. If I hurt you, I want you to take whatever measures necessary to keep yourself safe. Whether that’s going back to live with Derek, or calling the police or defending yourself physically.”

 

“I have your permission to hurt you?” Isaac said, disbelief dripping from his voice.

 

“Does that show you have confident I am that I won’t harm you?” Chris asked.

 

“I guess.”

 

It was just words, Chris knew that. Anyone could say what he was saying, but he hoped with the rapport he had with Isaac, it would be enough.

 

“If you harm someone else, or break a household rule, I will react the same way I do with Allison. I will take away your phone or you laptop or both, and you will be grounded aside from sports practice.”

 

“I don’t have a laptop.”

 

“I’ll probably buy you a laptop,” Chris said. He’d been wanting to for months, but such a large purchase was inappropriate.

 

“And I only go to your apartment when I’m not at practice.”

 

“Then a grounding won’t be too bad, will it?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Isaac said suddenly, “I don’t know why I’m doing this. I’m being rude.”

 

“You can ask questions,” Chris said, rubbing his forehead. Could Isaac hear in his voice how drained he was by this conversation? “Feeling safe where you live is very important. You can ask as many questions as you need to.”

 

“I think that’s it,” Isaac said.

 

“If you think of more, you can ask later.”

 

“Okay,” Isaac said, “Like, later when I live there?”

 

“Yes, any time,” Chris said, picking up clearly on what Isaac had just said, “Would you like to talk to Derek about this?”

 

“I already did,” Isaac said, “He said he’d help me move whenever. I mean it’s not like I need a moving truck. But.”

 

So Isaac had almost made the decision, he just had to take additional steps to make sure he might not be hurt in his new home. Brave. So incredibly brave.

 

“You can move in this Saturday,” Chris said, “You don’t have a game, correct?”

 

“Yeah,” Isaac said. He hesitated. Chris waited. “Saturday is my birthday.”

 

Chris’s heart soared. “Can we celebrate it in the evening?”

 

“We don’t have to,” Isaac said.

 

“Would you enjoy it if we did?”

 

“I think so?”

 

“Then we will.”

 

 

On Friday Allison came to his office and said that Isaac’s family usually celebrated his birthday by going bowling and getting ice cream, but he didn’t want to do that, and when she asked he said that he wanted to make muffins and watch a movie. It was not dissimilar to what they did on any Saturday night, but Chris didn’t object.

 

He made a cake early on Saturday, before Derek and Isaac arrived, unsure if they would use it. He needed to burn off the restless energy he had regardless, and making a cake was always the best way to calm his nerves.

 

He, Allison and Isaac had been prepping the guest room all week. They unpacked the rest of the boxes and after much encouragement, rearranged the furniture in a way Isaac liked.

 

Chris sent Allison and Isaac to Target with a list of items and a clear budget for bedding, hygiene items and other necessities for the room. He knew that they were perfectly capable of spending his money when he wasn’t around, and was satisfied when they came back with bags filled items off the list like a desk lamp and book ends.

 

“These aren’t your birthday presents,” he told Isaac offhandedly.

 

“What?” Isaac said, sounding alarmed. “You already got me all this, you don’t have to do anything for my birthday.”

 

“Oh my god Isaac,” Allison said, “All this is boring stuff, it’s not birthday material at all.”

 

“Allison is right,” Chris said, “These are things you needed. Birthdays are for things you want.”

 

“I don’t want anything,” Isaac insisted.

 

“Then it’s for things you didn’t want, but will politely accept.”

 

Moving in on Saturday was easy, since the only things Isaac owned fit in a two duffle bags. Derek and Isaac showed up at 2, carrying the bags and his lacrosse and hockey sticks. They stuck them in the guest room—Isaac’s room.

 

“Derek, would you like to stay for Isaac’s birthday party?” Chris asked.

 

Derek looked stunned, “When is your birthday?” he asked.

 

“Today,” Isaac said casually.

 

Derek shook his head. “That’s alright. I have some things to take care of.”

 

“Are you sure?” Chris asked.

 

Derek was already heading for the door. “Have a good time,” he said, not looking at any of them. And he was gone.

 

The birthday celebration was not without it’s own tense moments. When Allison started singing the happy birthday song, Isaac froze like a deer in headlights and Allison stopped singing immediately. They pretended the moment hadn’t happened, and cut into the cake without the song. When Isaac opened his presents, he was thrilled with the book on the science of baking, and the Civil War history tome, but froze when he unwrapped the laptop.

 

Chris nearly cringed at his reaction. He was on the fence, but Isaac needed a computer for school. Still, it was too much too soon. He had never been one for impulsive action, but he had all but promised Isaac a laptop and it was his birthday after all.

 

“Now my search history won’t be a ton of civil war stuff,” Allison said, “This is as much a present for me as it if for you.”

 

Isaac covered the laptop back up with paper, then opened it again. “Can I open this?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” Chris said firmly. “It’s yours.”

 

“I got beef jerky for my last birthday,” he joked.

 

“We can get some?” Chris suggested, knowing it was the wrong thing to say as he said it.

 

“No, I like the laptop,” Isaac said breezily, and got to work opening the plastic wrapping.

 

They made raspberry muffins and lemon poppy seed muffins—Chris had noticed that they were Isaac and Allison’s favorites respectively. The three of them feel into their well-established rhythm of taking turns measuring, mixing and cleaning as they went. Chris was glad he had chosen and apartment with a big bright kitchen and two ovens. In his mind he was picking it for Victoria, but the kids got as much use out of it is as she ever did.

 

Isaac’s muffins came out mushy, and rather than growing frustrated by it as Chris had seen in the past, he happily took out his Science of Baking book to consult it for the reason.

 

“I left them in the pans to cool for too long,” he announced.

 

“You total monster,” Allison teased, daintily taking the paper wrapping off her own mushy muffins.

 

After watching Singing In the Rain—Allison’s choice—they all got ready for bed.

 

This was somewhat permanent, Chris realized. They wouldn’t be baking or celebrating a birthday every night, but Isaac wouldn’t be going to Derek’s late at night again, he was staying here now. As he took the final steps to tidy up the living room, he could hear Allison and Isaac happily chattering down the hall.

 

He would have to talk to them about sex, he remembered. But not tonight.

 

“Good night Dad!” Allison called down the hall.

 

“Good night,” Chris replied. “Good night Isaac.”

 

There was a pause.

 

“Good night, sir.”

 

He would have to talk to Isaac about calling him Chris.

 

But not tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

Once Chris found out that Derek never had guardianship, he took on the unfortunate task of asking a family member permission to take responsibility for the child they were meant to care for. Isaac gave Chris his Aunt Aileen’s phone number without much fuss aside from saying “She kind of sucks, just so you know.”

 

Chris gently corrected him, but in his short conversation with Aileen he came to agree. All she said was,

 

“What?”

 

“Oh him?”

 

“What happened to that kid who was taking care of him?”

 

“Did he tell you he stole my car?”

 

“Yeah what do I care, I’ll sign the papers.”

 

“Listen, my car doesn’t work so great, you’ll have to come to me.”

 

Then hung up abruptly, saying her bird was eating her yogurt.

 

Allison had elbowed her way in to helping with the research process to find their best options. She was the one who found that with a few signatures from a form she printed on the internet, Chris could become Isaac’s guardian for 365 days. By the time the short term guardianship expired Isaac would be eighteen for a week.

 

A week after Isaac moved in they made the trip. The drive to Peoria took three hours. Allison and Isaac sat in the backseat together but didn’t talk, opting to pretend to read their respective history textbooks while the Illinois landscape turned urban, then rural, then urban again.

 

Aileen’s apartment was on a retail block with a blood clinic, situated above a convenience store. There were tattered plastic bags on the sidewalk and shoes hanging from the power lines.

 

“I told you,” Isaac said, “This place sucks.

 

Aileen answered the door almost immediately after Chris knocked. She had long curly brown hair that was pulled up in a tight ponytail, and frown lines etched into her forhead. She was wearing a blue Wal Mart uniform. She had piercing blue eyes. She frowned as she looked them over, her eyes settling on Isaac. They at once looked nothing like each other, and looked incredibly similar.

 

“I’m ready,” she said, as though they were in the middle of a conversation. “Come in then.”

 

The apartment was tidy but small. Standard furniture—a table and chairs, a coffee table, a bookcase full thick with short paperback fantasy novels—seemed to intrude on the place, forcing narrow walkways that they carefully walked through as he followed Aileen to the one couch that she gestured for him to sit on. At one end of the room, covering up the only window was a birdcage the length of the wall that was filled with small chirping birds.

 

With the couch full, Aileen pulled up a chair from the kitchen area and sat. She watched them for a moment. “Where’s the form then?”

 

“Before we start,” he said, “There are just some things I want to know, things Isaac didn’t know. Are there any other family members who may want custody of Isaac?” In his peripheral vision he saw Isaac start, so he continued for his benefit, “Just so I know if anyone will contest my seeking guardianship. Not to find someone else to give it to.”

 

Aileen snorted. “You think I’d be living in this palace if it was just me?”

 

“Your parents?

 

Aileen shook her head. “Mom’s been dead a hundred years. Dad’s down in Decatur serving a bit arson and insurance fraud.”

 

“Your dad’s an _arsonist?”_ Isaac asked, sounding impressed.

 

“Your grandpa,” Aileen corrected. “A shitty wannabe con man with nothing to show for it. You’re lucky he wasn’t out when all this happened, he’d be kicking up a storm about you living with someone who isn’t family.

 

Dread. All Chris felt was dread. He looked over at the kids, whose grim expressions probably matched his own. “And is there any chance of hit ‘bit’ ending in the next year?”

 

“Nope,” Aileen said, popping the p. “He’s in for another ten years at least, they take burning down government buildings real serious.”

 

Chris wanted to excuse himself to find court documents that proved that this man wouldn’t be out of prison in the next year, but he would have to take her word for it. He cleared his throat. “And there are no other family members that may want custody?”

 

Aileen shook her head. “It was just me and Creek. Hell, I barely knew he had kids, only just found out a few years ago. Then this.” She gestured to the room, to the situation they were in. “Where’s the forms then?”

 

Chris was prepared for more, but he took the form out from the file folder he prepared. Along with the short term guardianship forms were a statement of his finances—pared down of course—a clean background check and a map that showed how close his apartment was to the kids school. After a moment of consideration he handed those over as well.

 

Aileen took the folder and paged through it. Her eyebrows shot up at the section on finances and for a moment Chris wondered if he should have underrepresented himself further. He had included income solely from consulting, which was only a fraction of his income but still represented him as capable of fully supporting two teenagers. From her apartment alone, Chris could guess that it was still far beyond what Aileen had ever had access to.

 

“What was it you do again?” she asked.

 

“Security consulting,” Allison answered. “He’s the best in the business. In demand internationally.” Chris put his hand over hers to stop her. While he appreciated that she recognized his work, his intention was not to flaunt is potential assets. Allison began to say something else, but glanced at him and seemed to understand and stopped.

 

Aileen whistled. “It’s no Wal Mart but…” She picked up the guardianship forms.

 

“I’m still the executor of Creek’s estate,” Aileen said, “The house, the car. I’m still responsible for that crap until Isaac turns eighteen.”

 

Isaac, who had been attempting to disappear up until this point piped up, “I don’t want any of it. You can have it.”

 

Aileen rolled her shoulders. “The will says they’re yours when you’re eighteen, then they’re yours. I’m not going against what Creek wants.”

 

“He wanted me to live with you and we’re not doing that,” Isaac snapped.

 

Aileen leaned forward “The only reason he put me in there is because he knew no one else would—“

 

“ _Enough,”_ Chris cut in. “That is enough. We are doing what is best for everyone involved. Aileen, do you have any questions about the guardianship form?” He would not let her continue if there was a chance that she would say impulsive hurtful things.

 

Aileen huffed and returned her attention to the forms in her hand. Chris had read them dozens of times and researched all the legal implications of the arrangements they were making. Signing the forms made Chris functionally Isaac’s guardian. He could make medical decisions, legal decisions and sign form as his guardian, and Aileen’s guardianship became more symbolic than anything.

 

“I’m still in charge of the house and everything?” she asked.

 

“I’m happy to take over managing any affairs you don’t want to handle,” Chris offered.

 

“ _No,”_ Aileen and Isaac said at the same time. They made eye contact that communicated something that Chris did not understand. “No,” Aileen continued, “I’ll take care of the house. I’m using some of Creek’s money and paying a dude down there to make sure the pipes don’t explode and everything.”

 

The legality of that was not Chris’s concern. Chris hadn’t given any thought to Isaac’s childhood home. He didn’t know whether it was rented, or mortgaged or paid off.

 

“Are there still loans on the house?” he asked.

 

Aileen shook her head. “Creek paid it off years ago.”

 

“With Cam’s death gratuity,” Isaac added in a matter of fact tone. “We would have lost it otherwise. He’s the perfect son, even in death.”

 

“That’s an awful thing to say,” Aileen snapped.

 

“What, it’s true,” Isaac mumbled.

 

Chris clenched his fists. It was evident that these two pushed each others buttons. If this was how they behaved in front of company during a legal meeting, he couldn’t imagine how they got a long during the weeks they lived together following Isaac’s father’s death.

 

“I am hoping,” he said, “that we can focus on the matter at hand. Aileen, you will continue to manage the house. You can let me know if that becomes a problem.”

 

“I’m driving Creek’s car,” she said suddenly. “My car was _stolen_ and I can’t afford to buy another one. I want to keep it even if Isaac turns eighteen.”

 

“I told you, I don’t want any of it,” Isaac said, “Just sign the form and you can have it. You don’t want me to live here anyway. Make me someone else’s problem.”

 

Aileen bit her lip, but grabbed one of the pens that Chris had put on the coffee table. “This doesn’t make me not your aunt,” she said as she signed, “We’re still family.”

 

She handed Chris the forms. Chris checked that she signed in the right places. _Aileen Meredith Lahey._ He took the forms and started signing.

 

When he wrote the last letter he looked towards Allison and Isaac who were watching him. Allison held her hand out for the forms, she had come to serve as witness and she quickly wrote her name in the appropriate sections and handed the forms back to Chris.

 

He expected to feel some weight, or shift. He was taking legal responsibility for another human being’s life. For the next year of his life, whether Isaac turned out to be a easy kid or a complete monster he was the only person on earth who was responsible for his wellbeing. But instead of feeling the weight of responsibility, as he signed the forms he was overcome with as feeling of rightness. He thought back to that first night that he met the kids at the high school track and was struck with the irrational thought that he should have done this back then, right on that day.

 

He looked over the packet. “Well then,” he said, “I’m now your legal guardian.”

 

He expected a smart remark, or for Isaac to have the expression he had when he was overwhelmed by something where it looked like he had seen a ghost. But he just nodded. “Okay, yeah” he said, “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Chris said, not sure if he meant it. It wasn’t the kind of thing and kid should have to be thankful for.

 

Aileen sniffed loudly. Chris looked over to her and was alarmed to see she was crying. She sniffed furiously and wiped her nose.

 

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, “I’m sorry. It’s just one more way I’m fucking up.”

 

“You’re not,” Allison said quickly, “You’re doing the right thing.”

 

“Thanks a lot,” Aileen said, sarcastic through her tears. “I’m forty two, I work at Wal Mart and the one thing that my dead brother asks me to do I can’t even do. You couldn’t stand it here,” she said to Isaac, “You couldn’t even live with me for a month.”

 

Isaac frowned and rubbed his knuckles over his face, “I mean,” he said slowly, “That’s not…your fault.”

 

This should be a moment of celebration, but they had to deal with what was happening. “Creek,” he said, instantly regretting using Isaac’s fathers given name from the cold coil of anger it brought to his belly, “Asked you to watch out for Isaac. He’s going to a gold medal school, he’s on the lacrosse team, and he has friends at his school. Your blessing for him to live with us is a way of looking out for him.”

 

Aileen wiped her eyes. “I never wanted a kid,” she said, “I just didn’t ask for it, you know? I didn’t ask to be in the will or nothing. I didn’t ask for him.”

 

Isaac cleared his throat and stood up. “Are we done?”

 

Chris nodded, “Allison, why don’t you two go down to the car. We’ll finish up and I’ll be right down.”

 

They carefully walked the path out the door, and left without a word or Aileen, or even looking at her. Chris moved closer to hear in the empty space on the couch.

 

“Have you said those things to Isaac before?” he asked.

 

“Well…I don’t know,” Aileen said, rubbing one eye with a fist. “There was a lot when Creek first died. You know, he’s not easy. I hope you know what you’re getting in to.”

 

Chris kept his fisted hands at his side. “I know exactly what I am getting into. He is a smart, hard working, funny kid who does not deserve to be talked about like he is a burden.”

 

Aileen dropped her hands and made direct eye contact with Chris. “All kids are burdens. You can dress it up however you want, but any kid is a burden, especially one that’s not your own. I don’t get why you’re doing this.”

 

He reached over and picked up the guardianship papers off the table. This would be his first act as Isaac David Lahey’s legal guardian, and he had to get it right. “I am doing it, because when you care about someone you put their needs before your own. It is never a burden.”

 

He reached into his wallet and pulled out his card.

 

“This is my card,” he said, “Call me if you need to. I imagine we will talk this time next year about the inheritance process. And if you are unable to speak in a way that is not insulting or harmful, please continue to stay away from Isaac.”

 

And he left. His kids were waiting outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter, but this scene should stand on it's own.


	9. Chapter 9

There are no books about being the guardian of your child’s significant other. Chris checked.

 

Chris gives the kids two days, then he _hears them,_ and realizes it’s irresponsible to put them off any longer.

 

He sits them down after dinner, and after some consideration sat across the table from them. There were plenty of books about the sex talk, and he saw no reason that he couldn’t adapt them to include a wider audience. Even with the preparation, he felt the same unwitting nerves he had when he and Victoria first had this conversation with Allison.

 

“I know that you’re sexually active,” he started. It was best to start by establishing where everyone was coming from.

 

Allison groaned. “ _Dad.”_ Isaac immediately turned bright red, and seemed to become unsure of what to do with his hands, quickly cycling between crossing his arms, sitting on his hands and gripping his knees. Allison was just annoyed. “You don’t have to do this.”

 

“I am responsible for both your well being,” Chris said, “and that includes—“

 

“Dad!”

 

“Ensuring that you are being…safe and respectful to one another.” Chris charged on, even as Allison moved to stop him, and Isaac looked ready to be hit by a train. “First off, it is important that no matter what you do, everyone involved wants to be doing it and enthusiastically consents.”

 

Allison covered her face with her hands. Only one of his books talked about the importance of communicating consent to your children, the absence of which always struck him as a wild oversight.

 

“If at any point someone withdraws consent, you need to stop—understand?”

 

Allison did not respond from behind her hands. Isaac looked to her, still red, and risked glancing at Chris before looking away. “Yes,” he said quietly.

 

“I assume you two are just embarrassed, and this hasn’t been an issue?” Chris asked, part terrified of the answer.

 

“No!” they both said immediately.

 

That was a relief, though not unexpected. “Good. Now contraception—“

 

“Dad!” Allison said, and continued to interject as Chris outlined their options and the local clinics that would provide services if they did not want to go with him.

 

He and Victoria tried banning Allison from Jake, and by extension ban her from having sex with him, and it didn’t work. Victoria found the condoms in Allison’s purse—the tumor’s paranoia had her tearing through Allison’s belongings at a regular rate—and nearly drove to Jake’s house to do God knows what before Chris stopped her. He knew he couldn’t take that tact again. It didn’t stop Allison, it just drove her away. Allison was eighteen now, she could leave any day and he couldn’t stop her. He would have no right to if he was the one who drove her away.

 

All he wanted in life was to not drive Allison away.

 

Chris gave the kids a minute to process all the information that they had received. When he was sure he had their attention, he said, “While I would certainly like to ban you two from engaging in these activities in our home, I know that would be counter productive and I would rather not force you to find alternate locations that may no be safe. That said, I ask you to…limit yourself to a bedroom—“

 

“Oh my god Dad”

 

“—and continue to use protection and respect one another.”

 

By the end of the conversation Chris decided to busy himself in his office and give them some space, and time to think about what he had said. Part of him wondered if either of them would ever speak to him again, but that concern was dashed when after a few hours of silence, Isaac appeared in his study doorway, still avoiding eye contact.

 

“Allison wants to go to Dairy Queen and wanted to know if you wanted anything.”

 

Chris kept his face blank. “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

 

Isaac nodded, looking around the office. Finally he dragged his gaze to Chris’s, making intent eye contact. “I would never hurt Allison.”

 

“Good,” Chris said.

 

 

 

In the first week of February a new session of beginning pottery began at the park district. Thinking of Matthéo, and the fact that he will have to report to him this summer, Chris signed up and forced himself to go to this class.

 

He thought he could sneak out, but both kids were awake when Chris got ready for class. He could hear the radio show Isaac played on his laptop whenever he was alone playing from the guest room. It almost made him stop. What if he, or Allison needed something from him? What if he was shirking his duty as a father and guardian by going off to some silly class?

 

“Where are you going?” Allison blearily. She had up, and judging by the towel over her shoulder was going to shower. Chris realized he didn’t even know what her plans were for today, and he was irresponsibly leaving her to her own devices. What if she or Isaac needed homework help while he was gone?

 

“The shooting range,” Chris lied.

 

“Oh.”

 

Was that disappointed Chris heard?

 

“Do you want to come?” Chris asked. She could bring her bow and they could go to the good range and make a day of it.

 

“Not even a little, honestly,” Allison said, rubbing his eyes. “Have fun though.”

 

“Shooting isn’t supposed to be fun,” Chris said. “It’s important to keep in practice.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Allison said. “In practice for what, we’ll never know.”

 

“I should be back by noon if you two need me,” Chris said. Allison gave him a weak thumbs up and disappeared to the bathroom.

 

Chris forced himself to drive to the park district. He had driven there a few times when he signed up for the fall session of Introduction to Pottery, but he always was caught up reading emails on his phone and never quite made it inside. After a while he decided he was too busy and stopped going there at all.

 

Sitting in his car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Chris was still unsure what the point of being there was. After all, he could always lie to Matthéo. Matthéo was no good at detecting lies, his boundless faith on others led him to believe any good news.

 

But he had paid for the class. Twice now. It wouldn’t break the bank, but he could hear Victoria’s voice in his head admonishing him for being wishy washy.

 

 _Commit,_ he could hear her say, _make a decision._

Chris got out of the car. He could go to one class and never come back again.

 

He found the pottery classroom easily, in the basement next to the gym he always meant to check out. He was one of the last people there, and the rest of the people in the class were no less than 60 years old. Chris nearly backpedaled out of the room, but the teacher stopped him.

 

“Beginning pottery?” he asked. Chris could tell he was the teacher from the stained apron he wore, and his muscular arms spoke of practiced work. With arms like that, he might be able to make a vase out of stone. Chris shook his head to get rid of the ridiculous thoughts. The man looked at him expectantly with clear silver eyes.

 

“I believe so,” Chris said, clearing his throat.

 

The man squinted at him, “You’re not Chris Argent, are you?”

 

Alarm rose in Chris’s chest. “Excuse me?”

 

“It’s the only name left on my roster,” the man explained, sweeping his arm to the half full room of patrons. “And, I’ll remember it till the day I die at the only no show I’ve had in my career. All last semester I was waiting for you.”

 

Chris felt his face warm. “I thought I would check it out.”

 

“We’re glad you’re here,” the man said, “I’m Clark, I’m teaching the class.” He offered his hand, and Chris took it. He had a good handshake. Strong. “Take a seat,” Clark said, “we’re about to get started.”

 

Well. It couldn’t hurt to stay for one class.

 

* * *

 

 

If he went back the next week, and the next, he rationalized it as seeing out a commitment. Whether he felt relief as he kneaded the clay, or appreciated Clark’s instruction was beside the point.

 

* * *

 

 

When Isaac became his responsibility, many things that Chris theoretically knew to be true became concrete facts that Chris had to deal with.

 

Chris knew that Isaac got into fights at school. Isaac didn’t try to hide it, and Allison complained loudly about it, as through she didn’t realize that it would raise alarm in her father and force him to hold back his instinct to try to break them up. Chris got into his own share of fights back in the day, he knew what it was to feel like school was a war and he had to win. But now that Isaac was his responsibility, Chris was the one who got the curt call from the high school saying, “Your son has assaulted another student. Please come to the front office as soon as possible to pick him up.”

 

The message was disquieting for multiple reasons.

 

Chris was home when the call came, reflecting on how to handle the anniversary of Victoria’s anniversary in three weeks. It would fall over the kids Spring break, and he wondered whether a trip to her hometown in Massachusetts would be appropriate. As he drove to the school, he realized that the anniversary of Isaac’s father was coming up as well. Was that what the fight was about? Was he upset and didn’t know how to handle it?

 

When he got to the school he was greeted by the sight of Isaac slumped over in a seat outside of the vice principal’s office absentmindedly wiping at blood that slowly dripped from his nose with a Kleenex. Two seats away from him sat another student, a boy with short cropped hair and a swollen eye and lip. Chris nearly cringed at the sight of him, at the open evidence of the violence Isaac had done. Next to the boy was a man around Chris’s age who wore glasses and held a folded cane that indicated that he was blind.

 

Chris sighed. “Is one of these seats for me?”

 

Isaac glanced up at him distracted, then _rolled his eyes_ and said, “If you want,” sullenly.

 

Chris was no stranger to the defensive, angry side of Isaac, but it was chafing to experience it when they were in this situation. He wasn’t sure if he preferred the uncertain, worried side. To be honest, he preferred no sides and to be home blissfully unoccupied while the kids were at school not fighting anyone.

 

“Dr. Hillard said she will meet with us shortly,” the man sitting next to the other boy said. His voice was affected by a regal accent, the kind Chris hated that belonged to no region but rather a sense of superiority.

 

Chris nodded, then realized his mistake, and said, “I see,” out loud.

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Dr. HIllard came out, and looking resigned. She nodded in recognition toward Chris then looked to the other boy and his father and called out, “Aiden? Mr. Deucalion? We’ll meet first.”

 

Isaac glared at them as they passed by. Chris tried to not to be surprised at the aggression in his face. He had, after all, just hit this boy.

 

When the door closed, Chris leaned in as close as he dared and he said, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

 

Isaac shrugged, wiping his nose. “I got in a fight.”

 

“Yes I can see that,” Chris said. “Could you tell me why?”

 

He shrugged again, “I don’t know.”

 

“Please try to know.”

 

Isaac was quiet for a minute, staring at nothing. Finally he said. “Remember when you had to pick me up because I hit someone?”

 

Of course Chris remembered, even if it was at all unmemorable it happened just over a month ago. “Someone who tried to trap you two,” Chris added.

 

Isaac cringed and wiped his nose again. “Well it was Aiden, the other guy,” he said, nodding his head toward Dr. Hillard’s door.

 

“You fought him because of that?” Chris guessed.

 

“No, I’m just saying he’s a major dick. It’s not like I beat up a good person,” Isaac said.

 

Chris did not like that reasoning at all. “It’s not acceptable to beat anyone up, no matter how they behave.” He didn’t fully believe that himself, but if there was anything he had learned as a parent it was to expect better of his child than of himself.

 

“I know I’m just saying,” Isaac defended himself.

 

“Why did you fight him?”

 

“He started it,” Isaac said. “He knocked into _me.”_

“You got into a fight with someone because they bumped into you?”

 

Isaac nodded, like Chris had just said a good and valid reason. They sat quietly, waiting for Dr. Hillard’s door to open again. Chris waited for some wisdom to come up, the correct words to say delivered to him by his books or Victoria’s actions. But Allison had never harmed another person, aside from the planner book, and Chris had never paid much attention to books about children with behavioral problems.

 

He may have to buy new books.

 

“Isaac? Mr. Argent?” Dr. Hillard said.

 

Chris looked up. Lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even heard the door open. Aiden and his father walked out, Aiden guiding him with his hand on his father’s elbow. Again, Isaac glared at them as they walked by.

 

“Isaac,” Chris said.

 

“What?” Isaac said, like he had done nothing wrong.

 

In the office Dr. Hillard once again offered Chris a fidget toy, and offered one to Isaac who took it, and started taking it apart immediately and putting it back together.

 

“Last time we were here was a little different,” Dr. Hillard said. Chris was surprised, he expected her to immediately start by demanding an explanation of what happened. That had been his experience. “I understand you’re now Isaac’s guardian Mr. Argent.”

 

Chris felt taken aback to have the focus on him so suddenly. “I am,” he said. Dr. Hillard looked at him waiting. He could play that game too, but he chose not to. It was best to comply when there wasn’t a good reason not to. “I became Isaac’s guardian a few weeks after our last meeting. We—Isaac’s previous guardian, Isaac and I—decided it was for the best.”

 

“I see,” Dr. Hillard said, “And you’ve filed new paperwork with the office?”

 

“I have.”

 

“How’s that going?” she asked Isaac.

 

Isaac looked surprised. Maybe he like Chris wasn’t expecting this, or maybe he too realized that suddenly Chris was under scrutiny, that Dr. Hillard was implying that Isaac’s behavior was linked to his new living situation.

 

“Great,” Isaac said shortly.

 

“Great?” Dr. Hillard repeated.

 

“I have my own room,” Isaac said, like that explained how well it was going.

 

Dr. Hillard nodded, like that explained how well it was going. “Normally, I would suspect that this behavior might be linked to the major life change that Isaac has experienced. But unfortunately this is not a new behavior. This is the fifth physical altercation Isaac has engaged in this year. At this point we look at more intensive responses to the students behavior than suspension.”

 

“You can’t expel him,” Chris said, “I know his rights, he is not near the point of being dangerous enough to other students to require that.” He was talking out of his ass, he knew nothing about what merited expulsion but this was a good school and Chris would not have Isaac excluded from his own education.  


“Expulsion is not on the table,” Dr. Hillard said. “Suspension is, of course you will be suspended for three days.”

 

“Obviously,” Isaac said sarcastically.

 

“But,” Dr. Hillard continued, “with the matter of this persistent behavior, it’s time to take more targeted steps. I’m going to require that Isaac see his assigned social worker, Mr. Gompers, once a week for the rest of the year.”

 

“I see,” Chris said at the same moment Isaac burst out, “No way!”

 

Isaac sat bolt upright, fully engaged for the first time since Chris arrived. “I don’t have to see a social worker! Just expel me.”

 

“Expulsion is not on the table,” Dr. Hillard repeated, “You need to learn problem solving strategies that don’t involve fighting, and Mr. Gompers can help you with that.”

 

“Laheys don’t do therapy,” Isaac said. The phrasing was odd, it sounded like a mantra, something that he had said or heard regularly. It was the first time Chris had heard him use his surname like an identity, so it was more likely something that he had heard.

 

It wasn’t surprising.

 

“Isaac, this isn’t a bad thing” Chris said, even though part of him wanted to ask Dr. Hillard to do something a little less drastic. For her part, Dr. Hillard looked pleased with Chris’s response. “There’s only, what, ten weeks left of the semester? You won’t have to do it for long.”

 

“Expel me,” Isaac repeated, “I hate this school, I don’t learn anything in those stupid sophomore classes. If you think I’m staying here for two more years you’re kidding yourself. Just get rid of me, that way I won’t punch anymore of your students and won’t waste ‘Mr. Gompers’ time.”

 

“Isaac,” Chris said firmly, “You need to calm down.”

 

“Why?” he said, looking at Dr. Hillard as he talked. “I’m out of control right? If I’m such a bad kid why do you even want to waste time on me?”

 

“Because you’re not a bad kid,” Dr. Hillard said. “Dedicating time and resources to you is not a waste.”

 

Isaac let out a breath, slumping against the seat, spent. “Tell her I don’t need a social worker,” he asked Chris.

 

Chris certainly understood not wanting to see a social worker, if anyone suggested that he do so himself he would not be particularly receptive. But he could not deny that he was alarmed by Isaac’s behavior, and bringing in a professional could be the best thing for him.

 

“This is what Dr. Hillard is recommending, so I support it,” Chris said.

 

Isaac rolled his eyes.

 

Dr. Hillard nodded. “Good. Now. Isaac’s suspension.”

 

The drive back to the apartment was silent. When they got into the garage, Chris turned off his car but didn’t get out. Isaac sat, waiting.

 

“As we talked about, I’m going to take away your phone and your laptop. And you are grounded, aside from lacrosse practice for a week. Have you been grounded before?”

 

Isaac was silent for a moment then said, “I don’t know.”

 

“It means that you come straight home from school and can’t go anywhere but school or home until next Monday. You can leave the apartment if there is an emergency, you can eat whatever you normally would and you can go anywhere you normally go in the apartment.”

 

“Oh,” Isaac said, sounding confused, “Then yeah, I was always grounded.”

 

“Oh,” Chris said. Did that mean that this punishment would be meaningless to Isaac, or would it bring up bad memories? He expected Isaac to have some kind of reaction to being punished by Chris for the first time, but he remained calm while Chris made pasta salad for lunch, staying in the kitchen and sorting through his homework.

 

The problem came when Isaac had to turn over his laptop.

 

“I need this for school,” he insisted, holding his laptop on his lap and covering it with his forearms.

 

“You can use it in the kitchen while you are doing homework,” Chris said, waiting.

 

Isaac shook his head, “I need the laptop.”

 

Chris was surprised by this reaction, Isaac hadn’t had a laptop until a month ago and didn’t even use it for homework often, he only ever used it to listen to a radio show. He shook his head, “I told you from the beginning, if you harm another person this is what happens.”

 

“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” Isaac bit out. “You can’t ground me for longer, or take away my phone forever. I don’t care.”

 

Chris was surprised, and he worked hard not to show it. What in the world was so important that Isaac refused to let his laptop go? “Isaac. This is not a negotiation. If you have anything you don’t want me seeing, remember your laptop is password protected and I have no interest in looking at your—files.”

 

Isaac didn’t stop glaring, not even to be embarrassed. He finally cut his gaze away from Chris and handed over his laptop. Chris accepted it, surprised by how much heavier it as than he expected.

 

“Let me know if you have to do homework,” Chris said lamely. “You can have it back on Monday.”

 

“Whatever,” Isaac said. He was so angry he wouldn’t even look at Chris. “I’m allowed to read right? Can I just go to my room?”

 

“Yes,” Chris said, feeling a little relieved that they would get some space from one another. “Go ahead.”

 

Isaac disappeared.

 

Chris went to his office, and after some consideration poured himself a small drink.

 

He had been prepared for flashbacks, or uncertainty or fear when he had to discipline Isaac for the first time. He hoped that there wouldn’t be a first time. He didn’t expect such blatant anger and challenging. Allison never spoke to him that way, with such unbridled

 

Hatred?

 

No.

 

Chris was overreacting. This was a teenage boy. If thought it was even remotely safe to do so when he was a teenager, he may have directed some of the rage he felt at his own parents. Allison did it all the time. The parenting books said it indicated that the child felt safe expressing emotions.

 

Books about becoming the guardian of a teenager. They must exist.

 

Allison came home late, and he could her and Isaac talking in the kitchen. She wasn’t surprised when she showed up in his door. She was still wearing her snow dusted jacket.

 

“It’s a pizza night?” she asked. “If it is I can go pick it up now.”

 

“It’s not, I can make something,” Chris insisted.

 

“Come on Dad, it’s a pizza night,” Allison said, “The question in how many?”

 

Chris sighed, “The usual order I suppose.”

 

Allison nodded. “Okay, good news first? I got an A on my French test, and my teacher said that if I coordinate with Margaux’s school, I can get independent study credit when we’re in Nice this summer.”

 

Chris got up to give her a hug. “That’s very good news.”

 

“Right?” she said, sounding pleased, “Aren’t you proud to be my father?”

 

“I always am,” he said.

 

“Okay,” she said pulling back from the hug, “Now the bad news. The other one is super pissed at you.”

 

“The other one?” Chris asked, even though he believed he knew who she meant.

 

“Isaac. He’s mad about his laptop?”

 

Chris sighed. He hoped that had gone away in the last six hours. “I’ll talk to him. You order the pizzas and pick them up.”

 

“I have to do _everything_ around here,” Allison said as she walked out.

 

Chris found Isaac reading his Civil War history book in the living room with a plate of pretzels. He looked younger than usual, and Chris was reminded that he was a child in his care. Isaac never looked sixteen or seventeen. Chris remembered being worried when he was in the apartment for the first time that Allison had brought home a man in his twenties. When they went out to dinner for Allison’s birthday, the waiter handed him the wine list. But he was a child, barely seventeen, and Chris needed to address this.

 

He looked up when Chris walk in, and quickly looked down.

 

“Is this okay?” he asked.

 

“Of course,” Chris said, even though he wasn’t sure what Isaac was asking about. But he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He took a seat on the couch across from Isaac. “Allison tells me you’re still upset about your laptop.”

 

“Sorry,” Isaac said, still not looking at him.

 

Uncertain Isaac was here.

 

“It’s alright to be upset,” Chris said, “This is a new situation. I do wish you would continue to be as respectful as I know you can be, but I understand why you’re upset.”

 

“You don’t,” Isaac said, still looking at his book. “You don’t even know why.”

 

“Why are you upset then?” Chris asked.

 

Isaac shrugged. Then he looked up at Chris. “Do you know who Buzz Weller is?”

 

The question came completely out of nowhere, and Chris racked his brain for authors, musicians or celebrities Isaac could be talking about but came up blank. “I don’t,” Chris said, “Who is he?”

 

Isaac watched Chris, seemingly considering him and whether or not he could give this to him. The pause was long enough that Chris realized that something significant as about to be revealed, and he opened his posture, hoping that Isaac would trust him enough to talk.

 

Isaac seemed to decided that he did. “He’s a radio personality. He has a show where he talks to just random people, or he tells stories or he plays music then tells stories about the music. It’s not syndicated or anything, it’s just in central Indiana. But he has a show every morning from seven to eight—six to seven here. Since you gave me the laptop, I figured out that the radio website streams it live and I wake up so I can listen to it.”

 

Chris had heard the radio from Isaac’s room, but he assumed it was just casual background noise. “Does the radio website save the shows? Can you listen to them after next Monday?” he asked, feeling guilty as he did.

 

Isaac shook his head hard, and to Chris’s horror brought the heels of his hands up to his eyes. He was crying. Chris’s instincts told him to reach out and offer comfort, but he held back. “Isaac?” he prompted.

 

“I used to—my brother used to drive me to school and we would leave early so we could hear the whole show. We loved Buzz. Then after he left, I bought a radio and listened to it on the bus. I just—I haven’t been able to listen to it until now with living with Derek and everything. And I really—“ his breath hitched and Chris was nearly overcome with the urge to put his hand on Isaac’s shoulder. So he gave in. He put his hand on Isaac’s shoulder, and he wasn’t shrugged off. “I really didn’t realize how much I missed listening to Buzz, and how much happier it makes me.”

 

Chris was struck by the word happy. He didn’t realize it until now, but he couldn’t point to a moment where he could call Isaac happy. He’d seem him excited to solve a problem while baking, or smiling when he was talking to Allison, but there was a guarded edge to all of it.

 

It was his responsibility to fix that.

 

“I see,” Chris said. Isaac gained control of his breathing and wiped his eyes. “Here’s what we will do. You can have your laptop from six to seven in the morning. Afterwards you will give it back to me, and I will give it to you at six the next day.”

 

Isaac wiped his eyes and looked at Chris. “Seriously?”

 

“Seriously.”

 

“Why, because I cried?” Isaac asked, edge creeping back in.

 

“Because it’s important to you, and you asked,” Chris corrected.

 

“That’s it?”

 

“That’s all you need.”

 

 

That night, after the kids when to sleep, Chris pulled up Buzz Weller’s page on WISG 99.5’s website. He chose a random episode and started listening.

 

“Welcome back!” a booming voice came through. Chris quickly turned the volume down. “I’m so happy you’re here with us this morning,” Buzz said. He sounded much older than Chris expected. He assumed it was shock jock radio, but Buzz sounded almost elderly and a quick Google search confirmed that he was in his 70’s.

 

“You know it’s going to be a good day because you’re here and you matter,” Buzz said, “We have a lot of important things to talk about today but the first thing I want to talk about is sleep. Now sleep…”

 

Buzz went on to extol a specific alarm that woke people up at the lightest point of sleep, then described how important it is to get a good night sleep. He interviewed the keeper of a bat sanctuary, and carefully asked questions about the bats and the keepers life, concluding the interview by saying “You are doing important work and I appreciate you.”

 

He ended the show by saying “We need to wind down my friends, but I want to thank you for being here today and remind you that today is going to be a good day because you are here and _you matter._ “

 

Chris was alarmed to note that his heart was beating harder at the words. It was the sincerity, he told himself, Buzz had a way of speaking like everyone who was listening was important to him, and Chris had just picked up on it. It was a good radio trick, it was probably what kept Buzz on the radio for 30 years without any gimmicks.

 

He thought of two brothers, waking up early and driving away from a violent home on an Indiana country road and listening to Buzz expel love every morning. He was glad that the brothers had him, and that Isaac had him in his life again. He felt irrationally guilty for taking Buzz away from him, even for a few hours.

 

Still, he worried about the angry side of Isaac, and his attachment to Buzz showed that he was in desperate need of positive attention. Chris only recently began to felt like a good parent to Allison, and he was starting from scratch with Isaac. He already felt seventeen years behind, even though logically he knew he helped as soon as he was able to. But he needed to do better.

 

He needed new parenting books.

 

Preferably written by Buzz Weller.


	10. Chapter 10

Things calmed down enough a few days later for Chris to sit down and propose the idea of flying to Massachusetts to visit Victoria’s family.

 

Victoria’s family was nearly the good kind, a little odd but they never felt nervous leaving Allison alone with her grandparents—or at least her grandfather—when they went to visit. She grew up in an idyllic town outside of Boston, and Allison always loved visiting and spending time in Quincy Market. 

 

Allison froze when Chris floated the idea over dinner. 

 

“We haven’t seen them since the funeral,” she said. 

 

“No,” Chris agreed, though it was unusual for them to go a year without seeing Cyril and Joy. “As you know, we have been busy and they don’t travel much. But I’ve talked to them, and they are happy for us to visit. We could go for a few days and then spend a few days in the lake house.”

 

Allison shrugged. “What if I don’t want to go?”

 

Chris furrowed his brows, “Why don’t you want to go?” 

 

“I just don’t get why I have to go spend time with people I barely know,” she said, crossing her arms.

 

“These are your mother's parents, and they love you very much. Do you not enjoy visiting them?”

 

Allison sighed, “I do. I’m just saying.”

 

Chris turned to Isaac, “Have you ever been to Massachusetts?” 

 

Isaac looked surprised to be addressed. “I’ve been to Pennsylvania?” he said, and for a moment Chris wondered if he was saying so because he somehow knew that Chris was from Pennsylvania, but quickly rationalized that Isaac was just trying to say the closest thing to a right answer. 

 

“Massachusetts is nothing special,” Allison said, “Why can’t we just stay here? Last year this time we didn’t even go on a trip and everything was fine.”

 

They didn’t go on a trip because Allison’s mother had just died, and Chris felt no need to point that out. He wondered how she thought that was a logical argument. “We always go on a trip for Spring Break, and your grandparents would like to see you. If we go and you have an intolerable experience, we can fly home early. Since Isaac hasn’t been to Massachusetts, you may enjoy taking him to some of the sights in Boston, and the lake house.”

 

That got Isaac’s attention. He put down his fork and shook his head. “I can’t come with you.”

 

What teenagers turned down a free trip?

 

“Of course you can,” Chris said, “You are included in all family activities now. I’ve already bought your plane ticket.”

 

If possible, Isaac looked even more anguished. 

 

“Have you never been on a plane before?” Allison asked. 

 

Isaac scoffed. The nervous edge not leave him as he did. “You two think I’m some kind of hick, don’t you?”

 

“So you have,” Allison concluded. 

 

“Well, no” Isaac admitted, “But this is a family thing, you should go without me.” 

 

Chris rubbed his temple. “I’m not going to force either of you to come on this trip, but I think both of you will enjoy yourselves if you come. Allison, you consistently enjoy yourself both when you visit your grandparents and when you go to the lake house, and Isaac there is plenty of history in Boston that you will enjoy.” 

 

“We don’t mean to make you feel bad, Dad!” Allison exclaimed. “I mean I’m going to come.” 

 

“Well good,” Chris said. They looked at Isaac expectantly.

 

“I can come,” he said quietly.

 

“Good,” Chris said.

 

Seriously, what teenagers turn down a free trip? 

 

* * *

  
  


Chris waited around his pottery class afterward to talk to Clark. It was quite obvious that he was, because Winnie, one of the older women in the class was talking Clark’s ear off about her tomato garden. Clark clearly was not interested, he continually glanced at Chris and smiled indulgently, as though he was communicating that he was tolerating Winnie, but really wanted to talk to Chris. 

 

If Chris was in the business of imagining such things, he may believe that’s what Clark’s smiles meant.

 

When Sylvia finally left, Chris cleared his throat and approached Clark. Clark smiled widely. 

 

“My star pupil!” he said, “I was wondering when you would approach the bench.”

 

“Excuse me?” Chris said, unsure what he had just heard.

 

“You are doing a phenomenal job,” Clark said, “I recommend you do Pottery 3 after this. I’ve got to tell you, you were built for this,” He reached over and clapped Chris on the arm. 

 

Chris wasn’t sure if he was annoyed to be touched, or if the way his heart rate picked up was pleasure. He tried not to go down that road.

 

He cleared his throat again. “I wanted to let you know that I will not be in class next week.”

 

“Neither will I!” Clark said, “It’s canceled because of Spring break. Remember, I talked about it at the beginning?”

 

“Oh,” Chris said, fighting the warming feeling in his face, “I’m sure I heard you.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Clark said, smiling, “I appreciate you wanting to let me know. I’d be bummed if we did have class and you weren’t here. What are you doing?” 

 

Why did Clark want to know? It wasn’t related to the class at all. It was only related so far as Chris not being in class, but that was now irrelevant. Did Clark want to know because he was interested in Chris’s life? Did he want to be friends? Allison claimed that Chris had far too few friends, that two in another continent was not enough. Could Chris be friends with Clark? Clark was a little silly, a little young, but he was not opposed to developing a friendly exchange with him. 

 

“I’m going with my daughter and her boyfriend to visit her grandparents.” 

 

Clark nodded. “That’s nice. Is the boyfriend coming? Seems a little not fun for him.”

 

“I’m his guardian,” Chris explained, “I didn’t want to exclude him.”

 

Clark grinned—how could anyone smile this much? “What a nice guy you are, Chris Argent. Damn. What a nice guy.”

 

Chris was not frequently described as nice, or described at all, so he didn’t know how to respond. He cleared his throat again. “I’ll be back for the next class then.”

 

Once again Clark reached out and clapped him on the arm. The contact was brief, but it was possible that this was the only instance of someone besides Allison touching him since he left France, and he couldn’t help but be hyper aware of the way his nerve reacted, even through the layers of his shirt and jacket.

 

“Well good,” Clark said, “I’m looking forward to seeing you.” 

 

Chris nodded and left.

 

There was a time that he would be able to clearly see and understand that Clark was likely attracted to him, and if Chris wanted he could initiate an—exchange at least—with him. He certainly had before being with Victoria. But he wasn’t twenty-one anymore, and he was speaking to Clark because he was leaving for a trip to visit his deceased wife’s parents. 

 

It was too soon.

 

Was it too soon?

 

It was too soon. 

 

* * *

 

 

Three days before the trip, Isaac knocked on his office door just before they were all meant to be going to bed. Chris invited him in, but he stayed in the doorway after opening the door. 

 

“I can’t come with you guys to Boston,” he said stoically, his face blank.

 

“Oh?” Chris said.

 

“I’ve never been on a plane, but I’m pretty sure if I was I would freak out like I did in January.”

 

When he and Allison were trapped in the supply closet for less than 30 seconds, and Isaac was in physical distress for at least six hours following it. 

 

Chris risked coming to the other side of his desk. “Are you claustrophobic?”

 

Isaac shrugged, “Yeah, probably. I just think, like, I might completely ruin things and I don’t want to do that.”

 

“The airplane is bigger than you might think,” Chris said, “And this will be different, not one will be forcing you—”

 

Isaac flinched.

 

“Do you know why you’re claustrophobic?” Chris asked.

 

Isaac’s posture loosened and he rolled his eyes, “Yeah I’m pretty fu—pretty clear on why. I don’t want to talk about it though.” 

 

His new books said that when a phobia or fear came up, the best thing to do was to expose the child to their fear in a safe controlled environment with the support of a mental health professional. An airport was not a safe controlled environment, and if Isaac felt the need to attack someone to keep himself safe, airport security would not be understanding. 

 

Chris had no proof that this was connected to Isaac’s father, but he mentally blamed him anyway. His only options were to force Isaac to fly, which he wasn’t willing to do, to let him stay home alone which he also was not willing to do, or to change tactics. 

 

 “Alright,” Chris said, “would you be able to drive there?”

 

Isaac shook his head. “Allison gets carsick. And I already talked to Derek. He’s cool with me staying there for the week. It’s not like I’m going to die if I stay behind.”

 

Isaac was right, he wasn’t going to die and Allison did get carsick on trips that lasted more than an hour. He thought of what Clark said, that the trip to the grandparents would be no fun for Isaac. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was best to leave this potentially emotional experience between the family. 

 

“You can stay here,” Chris offered. “I would just ask that you not have friends over, but you are welcome to go to other people’s houses, and even spend the night as long as you let me know.” 

 

Isaac nodded readily. “Totally. Thank you.” 

 

“You’re welcome,” Chris said, even though he wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing. It was the best thing he knew to do though. “We’re going to Massachusetts in part to honor the anniversary of Allison’s mother’s death. I know the anniversary of your father—”

 

“It already happened.” Isaac cut him off, “It was two weeks ago.”

 

Fuck. How had Chris gotten that so wrong? He thought that Isaac’s father had died after Victoria. He thought back and realized it would have been a week after the fight. But after the fight, Isaac’s behavior leveled out, and he was as easy going as he could be, which admittedly was rather tense. Chris had no reason to think the anniversary had passed. 

 

“Would you like to—“

 

“I don’t care about it,” Isaac interrupted, “It’s not like Allison’s mom, you know? Allison’s mom loved her. Allison loved her mom. My dad was just—he was fucking crazy. The last thing he ever did was throw a water pitcher at my head, and say it was my fault that it cut my face,” he gestured easily to the scar high on his right cheek that Chris had noticed a while back. “So I’m not upset that he died. I’m probably only alive because he is.”

 

Isaac stopped talking, taking a quick breath and looking off-kilter, like he had revealed more than he meant to. Chris took the moment to process what he had just heard. He knew in theory that Isaac’s father abused him, it was one of the first things he knew about him. But this was the first specific incident he was aware of, something he could clearly picture right down to the hate-filled dismissal of a father saying “that was your fault” to his son. 

 

He wanted to go back behind his desk and dig through his drawers for the good whiskey, but need he needed to stay in this moment. He thought of the new book he had read last week and mentally flipped through it to find the right words to say. 

 

“That shouldn’t have happened to you,” he started with.

 

“It’s okay that you don’t feel the same way Allison does,” he continued. 

 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he finished with, hoping he had covered all his bases.

 

Isaac looked completely unmoved by what Chris had said. The books did say that you can’t predict how a teen will respond. He just nodded. “Yeah, so. I don’t care as much as Allison does.”  

 

Chris nodded and Isaac started to leave. Remembering something he hadn’t addressed Chris stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I’m very glad you’re alive. I know Allison is too.”

 

Isaac laughed and shrugged Chris’s hand off. “Thanks,” he said, “I guess I am too.” 

  
  


* * *

 

  
  
  


Allison didn’t question Isaac not coming with them. She didn’t look surprised at all when they told her. 

 

She went through security like a pro traveler. She toed into her shoes and gathered her coat over the shoulder and waited while Chris sat down and laced up his boots. “Which one of us is the professional here?” she asked. 

 

“I can’t wear Toms,” Chris said.

 

“You absolutely could wear Toms, you just think you can’t because of societal messages,” Allison said, taking off toward the moving walkway the second Chris was standing. At the gate, he bought her an overpriced bottle of water and bag of sunflower seeds which she picked through. Chris had a hard time bringing himself to eat on travel days, even though he knew his body needed fuel. Allison, who had no reason to know this, poured sunflower seeds into his hand and watched him eat them laboriously. 

 

“We’ll go to the hotel in Boston first,” Chris said, “And we can get dinner at Quincy Lobster.”

 

Allison nodded. “Are we sharing a room?” she asked.

 

The question was not unwarranted. As Allison had gotten older they chose accommodations that allowed for more privacy, suites with private rooms, or hotel rooms with adjoining doors. Often Allison and Victoria ended up sharing the larger room, while Chris took the pull out couch or smaller room. It was his first time traveling to a hotel alone with Allison, so he played it safe and got a suite with two bedrooms. 

 

Allison nodded appreciatively as he described the hotel suite. She laughed to herself and asked, “What would you have done if Isaac came?” 

 

“There are suites with three bedrooms.”

 

Allison outright laughed at that. “I don’t know if he’s ever been in a hotel, if he saw that he might break. It’s almost good he’s not coming.” 

 

“Do you think so?” Chris asked.

 

“He can’t fly,” she said matter a fact, so easily that Chris wondered if she had more information than he did. 

 

But Isaac wasn’t here right now, and his focus was on Allison. He would call Isaac when they landed. 

 

“You were never afraid of flying,” Chris said, “You were two years old running up and down the aisles making friends.”

 

“And you and mom let me,” Allison finished, “because ‘you can’t be kidnapped on a plane.’” She munched on her sunflower seeds. “Do you remember when I wanted to be a pilot? When I was, what, seven? You flew me to the San Diego Air and Space Museum just so I could see the inside of an engine.” 

 

“I remember,” Chris said.

 

“That was good,” Allison said, “Just so you know.” 

 

The flight was incident free, Allison slept most of the way. Chris realized that the next time he flew with her would be during the college visits in April they had planned with her guidance counselor. 

 

Back when Allison was held back, during a dark year that they moved three times in six months, the school's recommendation that she repeat seventh grade was a tragedy. Allison was furious, she cried at odd times and ripped up her school work. Victoria was ready to have the entire administrative staff of her school fired. And Chris pressed on, even though he could barely move from the guilt, because they had moved because of him. 

 

He had Victoria talked about everything that holding her back might mean. Socially, she would start over at a new school, they would make sure of that. She would have the chance to catch up, which she badly needed especially in math. But she would always be older than her classmates, and she would enter college a year later than expected.

 

An even guiltier part of Chris was happy about that part, that it meant that they got another year with Allison in the house. If she hadn’t been held back they would be preparing to send her off to college, but instead, he had another year with her at home. 

 

He was selfish, he knew it. 

 

Allison woke up when the plane started to descend, “I don’t want Quincy Lobster,” she announced before saying anything else.

 

“Oh?”

 

“I want to buy a DVD at Barnes and Noble, and I want to order room service. Did you want Quincy Lobster?”

 

“I didn’t,” Chris said, “We can do that.”

 

He wasn’t surprised when the DVD she wanted from Barnes and Noble was Singing in the Rain, and for room service, she wanted grilled cheese and tomato soup. The sandwiches they sent were made with artisanal bread, nothing like the square sandwich bread Victoria used, and the soup was chunkier than Campbells, but Allison didn’t say a word about it. She came into Chris’s room to eat and watch the movie sitting cross-legged on his bed. 

 

Since Victoria’s death, Allison had spent nearly every night at home watching one of the old movie musicals Victoria loved. He realized that it was his way of connecting with her, but even Victoria didn’t watch them every night. He sometimes wanted to encourage Allison to go out with friends and break curfew, go to parties. So many parents would be thrilled that their child was staying home with them and doing what their parents loved, but Victoria didn’t love stagnancy and she would not love that Allison was stuck. 

 

“Allison,” he said when the credits rolled, “It’s only 9:00 here. Let’s go for a walk.”

 

“I want to watch the bonus footage,” Allison said, showing no sign of moving.

 

“You’ve seen it before.”

 

“Well it might have changed, I don’t know,” Allison said, not taking her eyes off hte screen. 

 

Chris shook his head. “We are going to Quincy Market because you love it there and I want to go. You can watch the bonus content when we get back.”

 

Allison sighed begrudgingly and got up. “You realize this means I have to put shoes on?”

 

“I do,” Chris said.

 

They were at the market for thirty minutes when Allison saw a board game store and lit up, rushing over dragging Chris by the wrist. “Do you remember this?” she asked, “We came here with Mom and we bought that monopoly game in French. We played it all the time.”

 

It was a year and a half ago.

 

“I remember,” Chris said. He could picture Victoria standing across the crowded room, announcing in French that she had found the answer to their prayers. 

 

“Do you have any other games in French?” Allison asked the store employee, an older man with a flag on his nametag that said “Manager”

 

“I’m sorry we don’t,” he said, his voice needley and apologetic. “That was the only one we carried.”

 

Allison’s smile faltered, “But you had that before, do you have it now?”

 

“We sold out and didn’t reorder.”

 

Allison took a deep breath. “So you—if you sell out you should reorder,” she said, almost kindly like she was providing business advice.

 

“Allison we have the game at home,” Chris said, “We can play it at home.”

 

“I didn’t want to play it, I just wanted to see it,” she explained and walked right out of the store. 

 

They got ice cream in cold, indoor-outdoor building with pigeons walking through. Allison picked at her ice cream. 

 

“How can I help you, Allison?” Chris asked. 

 

Allison put down hey ice cream and put her chin on her hands. “I’m sorry I was a brat about coming here, and now I’m being an actual brat.”

 

“You’re not being a brat. Maybe I should have listened to you more clearly when you expressed your concerns about coming.”

 

“We haven’t even gotten to the Nowicki Estate yet, and I’m already a mess,” Allison said, “What if they see me and they say that I’m not the granddaughter they wanted?”

 

Chris wanted to assure her that they would never think that, much less say it. But with Victoria’s mother, it wasn’t a sure thing. So he took Allison’s hand and brushed his thumb over her wrist. “Allison,” he said, “You are exactly the daughter that your mother and I wanted, and the Nowickis don’t deserve a better granddaughter than you. 

 

He expected tears, but Allison nodded seriously. His words had hit her in the right way. “I’m pretty great,” she said.

 

“You are,” Chris agreed.

  
  


The Nowicki’s, Victoria’s parents, lived in an estate a mile drive off of any other roads. Chris drove the rented car along the narrow path that lead to the estate, with Allison talking to Isaac on the phone next to him.

 

“It’s a hundred acre estate with a main house, a guest house, a barn, a random second house that no one lives in. And horses.” She paused, “If you thought we were rich, your head would explode if you saw this.”

 

Chris passed the thatch of berry trees that meant they were getting closer so he asked Allison to put Isaac on speaker. 

 

“What are you doing today?” he asked.

 

“I was going to spend the night at Derek’s because his sister is coming?” Isaac asked.

 

“That’s fine,” Chris said, “Are you eating?”

 

“Yeah. I took some of the money you gave me and got more milk?”

 

“That’s fine, you can use all of the money in any way you need to that is legal,” Chris asked. His new books said that unspoken boundaries may not be understood, or may be intentionally violated. And just a week ago he had smelled pot on Isaac when he was coming home from his friend Erica’s house, something he hadn’t known how to address. 

 

“Okay. Can I talk to Allison again?”

 

Chris almost laughed, “Yes, but we’re almost there so say goodbye.”

 

Allison took the phone back and whispered something into the phone. Chris paid it no mind. The Nowicki estate was in front of them, historic red brick with a gravel walkway and a fountain that was running despite the nip in the air. 

 

Chris parked the car and he and Allison got out. The lights were all off in the house, which was not unusual, and it took a while for someone to answer the door after they rang.

 

“Are you sure they know we’re coming?” Allison asked.

 

“I spoke to them on the phone last week,” Chris said, though that didn’t guarantee anything. 

 

Finally, the door opened and it was Cyril, smiling with his arms open. He was built like Victoria, tall and strong even in his age and pulled Allison and Chris simultaneously into a hard hug.

 

“What a blessing to see you,” Cyril said into their shoulders, “What a blessing on this day.” Cyril pulled back and smiled at them, “Allison, I see you have grown even taller.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Allison said.

 

“You have,” Cyril insisted, and that was that. He gestured for them to follow him to the back porch where tea and snacks were already set out. Chris knew that there was staff hidden away behind all the closed doors in the estate who would descend to clear their plates one the meal was done. 

 

Allison went outside but stopped when she saw that they were meant to eat out there. It was 56 degrees out, and Allison was still wearing her winter coat. Chris shook his head minutely. There was a reason they were eating outside, and it would be revealed in time. 

 

Cyril took a seat and helped himself to tea, paying no mind to the weather. Allison gingerly sat down and Chris followed. There were heating lamps at least, the Nowicki’s could never go too far in their dysfunction when there was as staff underfoot. 

 

“Now Allison,” Cyril said, “You are a junior now, yes?”

 

“Yes,” she said.

 

“Looking at colleges, yes?”

 

“Yes,” she said.

 

“Your grandmother and I are very proud of you, very proud of you indeed. We can’t wait to hear about where you end up.”

 

“Where is Grandma?” Allison asked innocently. Chris wondered if she knew the answer. 

 

Cyril waved his hand. “She is sleeping off a headache. She’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

Victoria told him, before they were even serious before they were even dating really, that in her family “sleeping off a headache” meant “drunk off your ass” and that you were cooped up in a wing of the mansion until you pulled it together. 

 

Allison said, “Ah” and helped herself to a cookie. She seemed to understand what it meant as well. 

 

“Have you talked to any of your aunts lately?” Cyril asked, and when Allison said he hadn’t he filled the air with explanations of Victoria’s sisters’ empty attempts to spend their trust fund on boats, condos, and create purse lines. Victoria herself had allowed herself to use the trust fund to pay for college, but once she was in the world with a real job, it sat untouched. They added language years ago directing it to Allison, and Chris realized that it was now his responsibility to tell Allison that she had another trust fund waiting for her when she turned eighteen. Judging by the way Allison paced their apartment talking about water rights, and injustices against indigenous communities, he doubted she would be using her funds to create a line of purses.

 

“That’s great, Grandpa,” Allison said diplomatically. “I’m glad they’re all doing well.” 

 

“Yes well,” Cyril said, “As well as could be expected. Their sister’s passing was so unexpected.” This he directed to Chris. No accusation in his voice, it was only implied as the nearly undetectable level. 

 

“I was unexpected to all of us,” Chris said, covering Allison’s hand with his. 

 

“Of course,” Cyril said, “And it was a tragedy. If we had only known sooner—“

 

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” Chris said, “The doctors said as much.”

 

“The family,” Cyril said, using a voice infused with an intensity that was so much like Victoria that he saw Allison start, “If the family had known sooner we could have come, we could have helped her see the other options.”

 

Chris got ready to defend his wife, but Allison beat him to it. “My mom made her own choices. If she chose to call you, she would have. She chose to die the way that gave her the most dignity. That’s how you raised her. You should be proud that she died as independent and strong as she lived.” 

 

Cyril was shocked speechless. Allison started him down. “Your mother’s death,” he said, painfully, “was a great tragedy. A great tragedy. It was not a triumph of her strength.”

 

“It can be both,” Allison said. “Now, last time I was here we played croquette and I would like to play again. Can we do that?”

 

She was truly her mother's daughter.

 

They played for a few hours, never joined by Allison’s grandmother, Joy, and at the end made arrangements to meet in the city for lunch the next day. Chris begged off when Cyril tried to invite them to stay for dinner.

 

“I feel awful about how we started off,” he said, and Chris knew better than to ask whether he meant today, or twenty years ago when he called Chris an “uncouth mess of boy.” 

 

“We’ll have a wonderful lunch in the city,” Allison said, not hiding that she was eavesdropping. “Don’t worry about it. See if Grandma can come to this one.”

 

On the drive back to the hotel Allison was quiet. She interrupted the silence once to call Isaac, who was busy, so she hung up. 

 

“Real pieces of work, my mother's parents,” she said to the trees passing by her window.

 

“You should see your father’s parents,” Chris said, startling himself. He must have been tired. “They’re grieving.”

 

“Yeah, but Grandma is always drunk—I didn’t see her the last three times I was here. And Grandpa…I mean he’s better but he’s intense like Mom but not in a good way. It’s like, he’s fun then suddenly he’s judging you.

 

“I think it’s sad that I don’t have TV grandparents,” Allison said slowly, “but I think it’s good that you guys protect me from them.”

 

Chris glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “You do?”

 

“Well, yeah, you’re my parents. Protecting me is your main job.”

 

Chris turned onto the on-ramp back to Boston. “I certainly try.”  
  


Joy didn’t come to the lunch the next day, and Allison wasn’t disappointed. She talked with Cyril about archery for a while and dodged questions about boyfriends and dances. Without agreeing on it, neither of them told Cyril about Isaac. The lunch ended quickly when Cyril got a call that Joy needed him at home and took off with another hard hug for both of them. 

 

“I will try to visit you soon,” he promised.

 

“That would be nice,” Allison said, and Chris didn’t think she was fully lying. 

 

They spent the rest of the trip at the lake house, a long enough drive outside Boston that Allison loaded up on Dramamine and slept through it. Allison loved the lake house, she lounged around reading stacks of books Chris had bought her at the store near the hotel, and Chris did the same. In a foolish moment of emotion, he had taken up a quarter of his suitcase with his French edition of Les Miserables. He finished it on the dock while Allison waded in the water.

 

“What are you going to do with your life now?” Allison asked when she saw he was done. 

 

“I’m sure I’ll think of a new project,” he said, thinking of Clark and the bowl he was working on. 

 

* * *

 

 

When they got home Isaac was in his bedroom listening to Buzz Weller. He popped his head out when he heard the door open and Allison dropped her bags and ran up and hugged him close. 

 

Chris allowed them to have their intimate moment, carefully skirting past them to put his own bags away in his room. He went through his usual routine of washing all his bedding and the clothes he was wearing, then changing into more comfortable combats. He could hear the kids in Isaac’s bedroom catching up, and he passed by to get their opinion before ordering the usual pizzas for pick up and driving out to get it. 

 

While he waited in the car he used the internet function on his phone to look up the next pottery classes. If he took Pottery 3, it would meet two nights a week and Clark would be the teacher for both. The pizza took so long to be ready that Chris managed to sign up for the class while he was waiting. 

 

If only for something to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I wrote the first draft of this in one day. Could you imagine how often I would update if every day was like that. 
> 
> Hope you're still here, it's been a while!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are love, it's how I know I'm not writing into the void.


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